


Calm Like A Bomb

by andymcnope



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, bad medical decisions please don't try this at home, canon divergent after early s04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andymcnope/pseuds/andymcnope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They fell into this much like they’d done everything else, tumbling their way into it, realizing where they were, what they were, three or four steps later. For people who were good at anticipating everyone’s every move, they were pretty much each other’s blind spot.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[ Set in early S4 //  Completed ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. dead match only smoke is left

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I usually don’t post WIPs because of my short attention span when it comes to fandoms, but I’m preeeeeetty confident these two will hold my attention long enough for this to be completed. (2016 update: I lied)
> 
> A/N #2: Alternate titles considered - Rage Against The Machine, and/or Five Times The Machine Cockblocked Sameen Shaw.
> 
>  
> 
> [Updated A/N from June 2016:]
> 
> I apologize it's taken this long for an update, and I thank chromestorm for SHAMING me into finishing :) I originally intended for this to be 5 parts, with the last part broken into 3 chapters. But I quickly realized that it didn't wrap what I wanted to tell, and then canon happened and I got ultra-blocked post Prophets.
> 
> I started writing this pre-S4, before Honor Among Thieves, and definitely long before If Then Else and everything since. I started this as a lighthearted fic and then got puzzled by the idea of the Machine protecting Root over the others, or what could possibly turn Root away from the Machine even temporarily. We now know She wasn’t programmed to value a life over another - though she does sometimes withhold info to keep the team on track - but I still wanted to explore that, and it kind of led to the antithesis of how things ended up in canon (despite the fact I’m 100% on board with the canon train).

* * *

 

[The first time it happened, Shaw thought it was just a coincidence.]

 

“Son of a—“ she started to say as she took a step (or tried to, since her foot slipped right out of her boot with her movement). She did just fine in hospitals as a med student, doctor or ISA agent, but she decidedly did not make a good patient. Her left arm - on a sling due to her recently fractured collarbone - wasn’t making things any easier.

 

The soft and familiar sound of Root’s laughter alerted Shaw to the other woman’s presence. 

 

(It wasn’t a laugh, really… it was something more primal and intimate, that amused exhale Root always did when Shaw turned the tables on her, eyes glinting and pupils dilated.)

 

“I brought you a new pair,” Root said, handing Shaw two shopping bags.

 

Shaw accepted the bags with her right hand and set them on the bed, going for the heavier one first; black combat boots just like her previous pair, and of course they were her exact size.  _ Sometimes an omnipotent computer could come in handy _ , Shaw commented out loud.

 

“Who said She was the one who knew your size?” Root questioned with a smirk.

 

Shaw ignored her; it was Root, so the line between creepy and sweet was more blurred than she cared to admit. (Also the lines between unhealthy and healthy, and professional and personal, sane and well, whatever the two of them were on any given day.)

 

The contents of the second bag were dropped next, revealing a plain ribbed white cotton tank and a pair of black denim pants. Shaw cleared her throat as she glanced at Root, who had been watching her intently. Truth be told, Shaw could not find two shits to give about modesty; she was mostly making Root turn away because she knew it’d annoy the hacker.

 

Sure enough, Root rolled her eyes, but turned around anyway. “How did you lose your shoelace anyway?”

 

“As if She hasn’t told you already,” Shaw pointed out as she began removing her clothes, the task lightly harder than usual due to her injured arm. (It was another reason why she’d made Root turn around, because she could manage just fine one limb down.  _ Just fine _ .)

 

“I still wanna hear your version,” Root added, using that pleading tone she got when she wanted something. 

 

_ Can I shoot your gun just once? Come on, Sameen. _

 

Shaw snapped out of the memory, sighing. “Had to use it to tie the damn umbilical cord,” Shaw explained as she began to carefully slip into the new clothes. As soon as sound of the zipper sliding upwards echoed in the room, Root turned around to face her again.

 

“I’ve never seen a live birth,” Root commented, characteristically pensive at the idea. Shaw understood the reaction; it was the reaction of people who had never experienced life in normal settings, never yearned for babies or settling down or whatever it was that everyone else seemed to care about. 

 

“It’s okay, I guess,” Shaw replied with as much indifference as she could muster, as she slipped her feet into the new boots, tying the shoelaces into knots one-handedly, and sticking each one inside the boot. “I mean, I completed my obstetrics rotation, but never delivered one while bad guys were trying to break through the door; they don’t exactly cover that in med school or even the Corps.”

 

The whole experience had been more than okay, actually - her endorphin and adrenaline levels had peaked and she hadn’t even felt the fractured collarbone until they’d been in the ambulance on their way to the hospital. The kid had cried loudly, testing out his healthy lungs and trying to win some competition against the sirens. The idea that her eardrums would’ve suffered a lot less if he hadn’t made it only briefly crossed her mind before she had tried to shush the infant; if John found out, he would think she was going soft. It’s not as if she cared, but she’d saved her number, the mother, and got the job done. That’s all that mattered, really.

 

Shaw’s clothes, however, had definitely not survived the ordeal. Even in the ambulance, she had honestly given up on trying one of the many methods she’d learned on getting bodily fluids off the fabrics; as much as she hated to admit it, she felt very relieved to have a change of clothes at her disposal thanks to Root. She stuffed the soiled clothes into the plastic bag the hospital had provided for personal belongings; at the bottom of the bag was her gun. As she was retrieving it, she noticed the bra was missing; it had been removed by one of the radiology nurses before her x-ray, and now it was nowhere to be found.

 

“I guess She forgot to have you pick up a new bra,” Shaw added as she glanced down at her chest, the ribbed tank was stretched to what felt like its limit, the sling cutting across the middle.

 

“Now that you mention it, she did say something about it ending up in the hazmat disposal area by mistake. It must’ve slipped my mind,” Root added with feigned innocence.

 

“Must have,” Shaw challenged, rolling her eyes.

 

“What can I say, I was in a hurry…” Root added as crossed the space between them; much like always, at this proximity Shaw had to crane her neck just slightly to maintain eye contact. She felt the pain of her injury flaring up in a wave of heat at the base of her neck.

 

“Here,” Root said as she removed her black leather jacket and wrapped it around Shaw, holding out the right sleeve so Shaw could slide her good arm through it. “There we go.”

 

Shaw felt a little hazy all of a sudden; probably the pain meds they’d given her kicking in. The warm pain on her neck spread to her sternum, and settled within her ribcage, pounding hard enough that she would have had a hard time taking a shot between heartbeats. 

 

She swallowed the knot in her throat and turned around to pick up the bags that were littering the hospital bed. Root slid behind her, reaching for the heaviest of bags. Shaw tugged on it, but Root didn’t let go; fuck if she was about to get into a tug of war with an arm in a sling, so she settled for a simple: “Thanks, I guess?”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Root offered.

 

“I’m not planning to,” Shaw countered, knowing Root could see right through her bravado.

 

*

 

Shaw didn’t say anything as Root got on the same train as her, carrying the heaviest bag still, and holding it out of Shaw’s reach.

 

When Root followed her as she got off at her station, Shaw sighed but didn’t say anything - after all Root probably just wanted her coat back.

 

Shaw had a brief memory of wearing her father’s jacket once; she’d lost hers at one of the rest stops on one of their trips, and he’d wrapped her in his. The sleeves had been rolled six times over, and the hem hit just below her knees, but she’d loved it, especially when she could curl up inside of it in the backseat, falling asleep to the sound of her father’s favorite radio station and his comforting smell surrounding her.

 

Root’s jacket didn’t exactly hit her knees, but it was definitely a few inches lower on Shaw than it’d been while the original owner had worn it. And Root’s scent definitely lingered all over the fabric, but it evoked a response from Shaw that was far from comforting and familiar.

 

“She wants us to stop here,” Root said as they passed one of the bodegas half a block from Shaw’s place.

 

“Don’t tell me She needs overpriced condoms or shitty liquor,” Shaw replied even as she followed Root into the store and down into one of the aisles.

 

“Cute, but no,” Root replied. “What can you cook?”

 

A horrified look must have settled on Shaw’s face, because Root put the container of frozen ravioli she’d been holding back in the freezer, and reached for the canned soup behind them instead. “Do you truly only have an expired gallon of milk in your fridge?” 

 

Shaw tried shrugging with just her good shoulder, but it didn’t have the same effect. “It’s not expired,” she argued. “…I think,” she added when she could not remember when she’d bought it. It had to have been at least six numbers ago.

 

“Think you can manage some mac ’n cheese?” Root asked, waving the blue box with what appeared to be a smiling noodle. 

 

“I haven’t died of starvation  _ yet _ ,” Shaw pointed out as she snatched the box from Root’s hand and threw it into the basket, perhaps with more force than was needed.

 

“Not for a lack of trying, apparently,” Root teased and reached for a bag of dog treats on the way to the register. Shaw didn’t have to look to know it was Bear’s favorite brand, and honestly she was too tired and annoyed and  _ sore _ to deal with the enigma that was Root. 

 

After a quick stop at the closest pharmacy ( _ “She took the liberty of having your prescriptions filled here under one of your aliases.” _ ) they made their way to Shaw’s apartment, one of the neighbors walking past them without a greeting. It was one of the things Shaw liked about this place - even though she didn’t have strong feelings about her actual apartment, no one in the building acted like they were all characters in some goddamn sitcom; they all just minded their own business.

 

As the door to her apartment opened, Shaw made a straight line for the fridge. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the spoiled milk, reluctantly taking the fresh bottle that Root was holding out. After a couple more items were put away, Shaw reached for one of the beer bottles. “See? Not everything is expired,” she pointed out, offering one to Root, who turned it down in an instant.

 

The stupid pharmacy gave her childproof caps on her medicine bottles, and Shaw struggled for two minutes with the damn things; she should’ve gotten them open easily, but the muscle relaxants they’d given her at the hospital kind of made her fingers feel like putty. 

 

Root pried them out of Shaw’s hand, unscrewing each bottle before handing them back.

 

“I had loosened them for you,” Shaw grounded out before she downed the recommended dosage and washed them down with beer.

 

Root frowned. “Should you really be drinking those with alcohol?” 

 

“Please remind me, out of the two people in this apartment, which one went to med school?” Shaw pointed out. 

 

(Honestly no, it was decidedly  _ not _ a good idea to mix these particular drugs with alcohol, but then again voluntarily allowing Root into her place was also a very very bad idea, so it seemed like her idea-meter was stuck on the red that evening.)

 

Root was seemingly impervious to Shaw’s thoughts as she pushed herself up until she was sitting on the countertop, Italian-made shoes bouncing off the particle board of Shaw’s kitchen cupboards. Shaw did her best to ignore the other woman, aware that Root was just doing it to annoy her; Shaw leaned against the countertop, letting the laminate dig into her hip as she took small sips out of her beer bottle.

 

It wasn’t until some of the beer missed her mouth and dribbled down her chin - and onto the jacket - that Shaw remembered why Root had followed her home. “Oh, right,” Shaw said, softly shaking her head and blinking through the thickening haze in her consciousness. Her fingers missed the first couple of times, and when Root slid off the counter to try to help, Shaw swatted at the other woman’s hands.

 

She was Sameen Shaw, and she really didn’t need any help and she was through being taken care of; she’d suffered through a lot of worse injuries without Root’s assistance. Hell, she’d suffered worse injuries  _ because _ of Root.

 

(It did cross her mind that while she didn’t  _ need _ anyone’s help, it did appear to make things a little easier, after all she hadn’t walked back home barefoot and covered in placenta and blood. Maybe, just maybe, this didn’t suck as much as she’d conditioned herself to think it would.) 

 

(That alone sobered her up some.)

 

Despite the thoughts that bounced back and forth in her mind, Shaw managed to slip out of the jacket and stared at Root stoically through the pain that pushed through the painkillers. “Here you go,” she said as she took two steps towards Root.

 

Root took the jacket but set it behind her on the counter, using her free hands to move Shaw’s hair and tug softly on the wide strap of the tank. “Hmm,” she added as her fingers traced the bruised area softly. “Not too bad. If you keep yourself from being, well -  _ you _ \- for two days, it should heal up rather quickly.”

 

Shaw scoffed at the words. “Is that your medical opinion,  _ Doctor _ ?”

 

Root smirked, leaning in closely until their noses were almost touching. “I might not be a real doctor, but I do know a thing or two about broken bones and bruises.”

 

“Yeah well, so do I,” Shaw replied, but what she’d intended as a threat came out mostly as a promise.

 

The close space between them became even smaller, Shaw’s internal alarms going off like an army marching through a minefield; the sound was deafening as Root’s lips brushed against hers. The meds and beer had numbed her just slightly and she felt angry at herself for that, pushing forward until Root’s body was pinned between her and the counter. The taste and slickness of Root’s mouth seemed to make up for Shaw’s partially muted senses.

 

When something began to vibrate against Shaw’s hip, she was thrown off balance; it was soon followed by a sonic attack to her eardrums, stopping only when Root pulled her cell out of her pocket and pressed the screen several times. 

 

Shaw backed away until her ass slammed into the fridge door handle. “Fuck!” She shouted as the impact jostled her injury unpleasantly. Trying to look more composed than she felt, Shaw ran her free hand through her hair, trying not to think too much about what had just happened. “What was that?”  

 

Root tilted her head as she glanced at the phone. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous?” she teased.

 

Shaw rolled her eyes so hard, she was temporarily afraid they’d get stuck like that. (Her grandma’s cautionary tale; Shaw remembers being four and having her hand slapped by the older woman and being told not to touch anything. Shaw hadn’t mastered her shrug or eye roll yet, but she’d been learning.) 

 

“Relax,” Root added. “She is unhappy I haven’t yet started my new assignment.”

 

Shaw frowned. “Skipping past the part where a supercomputer gets  _ unhappy _ , why the hell didn’t she just, you know…?” Shaw asked as she pointed at Root’s ear, resisting the urge to let her fingers reach for the soft waves.

 

“Who says she didn’t try?” Root replied, tongue darting out to lick her lips. 

 

Shaw’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “So you ignore her commands now?”

 

“Only briefly, and I knew I wouldn’t be staying long, not in your…  _ condition _ ,” Root explained, tilting her head towards the medicines and half-empty beer bottle as she put her jacket back on. “And only when it’s worth it,” she added before pressing her lips against Shaw’s once more. It was just a soft kiss, chaste compared to the previous one, but far more dangerous as far as Shaw was concerned. Root didn’t seem to recognize the severity of her actions as she headed towards the door. With a wink, she said: “Try not to miss me too much.”

 

“That’s pretty low on my list of concerns, trust me,” Shaw retorted at the closing door.

 

*


	2. like smoke darkening the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fandom is like the NICEST and I was overwhelmed by kudos and comments to the first chapter like whoaaa, so here's 2500 words of nothingness.

* * *

 

The hotel ballroom felt stifling to Shaw.

 

“Look alive,” John’s voice reached her over comms.

 

Shaw rolled her eyes as she swallowed her hors d’oeuvre without even chewing, wondering what rich people had against normal portions of food. “Easy for you to say. Did you even have to rent a tux or do you just have one for every occasion in your closet?”

 

Reese’s only reply was sending a smirk across the room at her. 

 

“Ms. Shaw, you do look quite lovely tonight,” Finch’s voice complimented her over comms, but her tortured grunt was cut short when she saw their number stand up.

 

“He’s on the move,” she warned them, watching the CEO from afar as he headed for the elevator. “He went past the elevators, I think he’s heading for the underground garage.”

 

“I’ll check it out,” John’s voice reassured her.

 

As she entered the parking garage, her heels gave away her presence and position, so she quickly ditched them, along with the impractical evening clutch she’d been using to hold her weapon. The weight of the gun in her hand was comforting as she tried to follow the man in silence.

 

“Ms. Shaw, Mr. Reese - if he goes below three stories underground, our communications may be interrupted.”

 

“Roger that, Finch,” they replied in unison. 

 

Reese caught up with her a couple of minutes later; they were on the ramp that led to the lowest floor. The sound of a car quickly approaching caused them to break away; she ran for cover, noticing John had gone the opposite direction. 

 

The lights flickered above as the SUV passed, and then went out completely; Shaw felt the tension in her body melting into self-awareness. There was a sound of shuffling to her right, and she stayed perfectly still. Her instinct was to shoot at whatever was coming her way, but for all she knew it could be John - or even their number, and she still wasn’t sure if the guy was a victim or a perpetrator. 

 

When the sounds of footsteps got close enough, she took action, pushing the unknown assailant against the concrete column and pressing her arm to their throat. Something about the choked gasp rang familiar and Shaw’s eyes adjusted to the darkness to make up a few recognizable features.

 

“Good to see you too,” Root’s voice came out low and guttural; Shaw wasn’t entirely sure if it was just due to the arm pressing against the taller woman’s windpipe.

 

“What are you doing here?” Shaw demanded in a whisper, removing her arm from Root’s collarbone and decidedly ignoring the way their torsos were still pressed against one another. “I could’ve killed you.”

 

“But you didn’t,” Root countered, hand reaching up to massage the skin of her neck.

 

“But I  _ could  _ have,” Shaw argued back, realizing a second too late that she had subconsciously overplayed her hand. 

 

The SUV that had passed them flashed its brights momentarily, and Shaw could see Root dressed in a jacket and black slacks, and she suddenly felt incredibly envious; Shaw could clean up nice, she knew that, but there was something rather restricting about trying to crouch behind a concrete pillar in a silk dress that was just  _ wrong _ .

 

“I see someone’s making good use of her employee discount,” Root commented lasciviously as the darkness fell upon them once again.

 

“Shut up,” Shaw added quickly, not letting the warmth of Root’s gaze or words spread like wildfire, and only mildly failing. She’d seen a four-foot tall concrete barricade when the lights had flashed, and she ran in that direction. There was no surprise when Root crouched next to her.

 

“Where’s your spare?” Root whispered.

 

“You’re not carrying?!” Shaw asked in disbelief. She tried not to dwell on the tinge of desperate concern in her voice, hoping the outrage had masked it some.

 

“There was no time, and She knew you’d be here,” Root explained at the sound of a car door being slammed shut. “Your number is about to shoot my numbers, so now would be great.”

 

Shaw rolled her eyes, but reached under her dress for the thigh holster.  “Fine,” she gritted between her teeth as she handed Root the gun. “Can you do anything about the lights?”

 

Root shook her head. “She’s not— she’s not responding,” she explained, a surge of worry in her voice. (Shaw was reminded of the government facility in the Northwest, dealing with the aftermath of finding it empty; digging out the bullet she’d put in Root’s shoulder before John could bandage it.)

 

“Finch mentioned we might be too far underground,” Shaw added in reassurance as she turned to get in position, the silk of her dress offering no protection as she kneeled on the cold ground and prepared to take shots if needed. “How many?”

 

“Three in the SUV,” Root offered.

 

“We sure my guy is the perp?” Shaw asked, not because she had any warm feelings towards the CEO, but because she really didn’t want to deal with Finch if she shot an innocent guy, kneecap or no kneecap.

 

“Yes, but don’t feel too bad,” Root added as she moved closer to Shaw, sharing the line of sight. “Your number had his wife killed five years ago by this crew.”

 

She remembered Finch mentioning the dead wife; a reported embedded with the troops. One of the many advantages of the Corps was no unnecessary civilians, but she’d sat next to one on the armored convoy from Baghdad to Kirkuk, a kid fresh out of college in glasses; entire battalion kept calling him Clark Kent. She remembered seeing his obituary four months later, no superpowers to protect him from a roadside IED. 

 

Shaw shook the thought away, remembered their current position. “I thought she’d died while doing a story in Afghanistan.”

 

“She did, but not by insurgents as the report stated. The three guys in the SUV were contractors there, carried out the hit, and now that they’re home, they’ve been trying to collect some more payouts that weren’t included in the original contracts,” Root explained. “Greed… seems to get humans every time. Never understood why, when lust is so much more fun.”

 

Shaw was spared the need to reply when gunfire broke out; the SUV’s headlights came on and stayed on this time, finally giving her a good view. She watched as the once hit men returned the CEO’s lackluster shots with a lot more accuracy, only missing because John pulled their number behind a car at the last second.

 

The front end of the SUV was between her and the contractors’ kneecaps, blocking her line of sight. She motioned for Root to stay put as she moved between cars, barely pausing as her dress got caught under her feet. As she crouched behind a mid-sized sedan, her fingers tugged at the fabric, making the knee-high slit go all the way to her mid-thigh; the fabric so thin it barely protested at all.

 

“We had a  _ deal _ ,” she heard someone say, presumably the CEO. Really, she just wanted to neutralize this threat and go home, and she was not in the mood to sit through exposition dialogue.

 

She peeked underneath the sedan, seeing three pairs of feet; in the absence kneecaps, she aimed for the more expensive-looking pair of shoes, assuming that’d be the leader. As the shot rang out, she barely waited for the man’s weight to crash to the ground before she darted four feet to the left, hoping the man’s screams of pain would be enough to mask the sounds of her movements.

 

Another shot came from her right, presumably John, before the two men returned fire. 

 

As the car she was hiding behind shook from impact, she took a deep breath. Shots rang out from her left, with barely a pause between each bullet. 

 

It didn’t take a genius to recognize the attitude. (Shaw had long noticed Root always shot as if she was never afraid of an empty magazine; careless precision and casual disinterest.)

 

“Come on, grab him,” said Contractor #3 as he jumped in the driver’s seat, leaving #2 to carry their limping and bleeding companion to the backseat. Shaw’s previous assessment of the leader must have been correct, as the men seemed absolutely lost when whatever plan they’d been following fell apart.

 

As the driver seemed to struggle to put the key in the ignition, Root continued to walk in their direction; the guy behind the wheel panicked, the headlights went off and when they came back on, the nose of Shaw’s spare gun was pressed against the grill. The engine revved once before Root pulled the trigger; the smell of leaking antifreeze permeated the thick air of the garage, followed by the engine sputtering and a thick haze of smoke billowed from under the hood. 

 

“Hands in the air!” Shaw shouted as she made her way to the driver’s door. Sirens sounded in the distance, and she kept her eyes on the men in the SUV.

 

“That means you too,” she heard John say, right before the CEO’s gun hit the ground. “There we go,” John added, along with the sound of handcuffs clicking closed.

 

The sirens sounded closer now and closer now, until she could see Fusco’s disapproving frown in the driver’s seat of the unmarked. 

 

“Let me guess, I gotta clean this up,” the man asked as he rolled down the window.

 

“Guy back there with your partner had these guys here kill the missus, and these guys were trying to blackmail him with that five years later. All around, a lovely collection of human beings,” she added as she wondered why the Machine had interfered; she wasn’t an expert or anything, but she was fairly sure the world would’ve been a better place if they’d led these four take themselves out. 

 

“Nice dress,” Fusco added as he fussed with the seatbelt.

 

“I’m getting out of here,” Shaw replied; she was hungry and tired and dirty.

 

“What if they run?” Fusco asked, pointing a flashlight at the SUV.

 

“You run after them,” she deadpanned. “You could use the exercise.”

 

“Don’t even try that, I’m happy the way I am,” Fusco repeated in a mantra-like manner. “Plus it’s not as if I’d ever look like that,” he added from the corner of his mouth, with his thumb pointing at John.

 

Shaw rolled her eyes and walked away, toward the ramp that led to one of the upper levels. “Oh and Fusco…”

 

“… you were never here, I know the drill,” he replied with the ease of repetition as he pulled out his radio. Root walked past the unmarked, and he pointed at her with the radio antenna. “This just gets better and better; get her out of here.”

 

“Great to see you too, Lionel,” Root offered.

 

“Nothing but the wind,” he offered back, trying to juggle the radio, the flashlight, and his taser gun. As Root reached her at the top of the ramp, Shaw heard radio feedback, followed by Fusco’s: “How the hell am I supposed to radio for backup?”

 

Shaw ignored him, heading back the way she came, until she found her discarded shoes and clutch. “Please tell me she sent you with a change of clothes and shoes again,” she commented as she cringed at the sight of heels.

 

“No, but you’re definitely not gonna need to walk home,” Root replied from several feet away, standing by a sleek sports car; it was one of the latest models, valet ticket wedged in the dash. Her tone had that wistful tone again, like she had the constant buzzing of the machine in her ear once again. “Would you mind unlocking it?” 

 

Shaw slid in the driver’s seat with ease, the keyless ignition clicking on; the dashboard was midnight black, some of the digital gauges faded in as her eyes took in every inch. 

 

Well, her evening was certainly looking up.

 

It wasn’t until she looked up again that she noticed Root’s retreating form. The car purred under Shaw as she pulled up to the hacker, rolling the window down and coming to a stop. “Get in,” she ordered.

 

“Would if I could,” Root added with a shrug. “Somewhere I gotta be,” she explained, leaning into the open window, elbows supporting her weight as she looked in.

 

A memory of the kiss in the apartment kitchen flashed through Shaw’s mind; she wondered what it’d be like to do it again with no meds coursing through her system.

 

“I almost forgot,” Root said as she turned away momentarily, the curtain of her hair falling in and brushing against Shaw’s arm. “Here,” she added as she held Shaw’s spare in her hand. 

 

Root made eye contact and held it as she moved the filthy silk of the dress out of the way, finding the holster; Shaw held her breath as slender fingers brushed against her inner thigh, surprisingly dexterous considering Root was obviously not looking down. 

 

“Thanks again,” Root added once the weapon was firmly in place, moving the fabric of the dress back until it covered the holster; Shaw wasn’t sure why the small action made something inside her hurt in a pleasant way.

 

“You sure you’re okay out there?” Shaw asked, her voice sounding a lot hoarser than she’d predicated. “Flying solo, no backup.”

 

“She’s my backup,” Root offered, with a sideways smile as she stood back up.

 

“A machine makes for shitty backup. No instincts,” Shaw pointed out.

 

“Are you sure about that?” Root replied, staring at the busy street a few feet away. “I’m starting to think she knows a lot more about human instinct than we do. See you around, Sameen.”

  
  


*


	3. burn with me tonight

* * *

 

Shaw turned off comms as she watched Reese place their latest number in the back of the squad car; Fusco barely acknowledged the door slamming shut as he worked on finishing the last of the funnel cake in his hand. (A part of her wanted to tell him about the dangers of high cholesterol for someone in his profession but she didn’t; her feelings for the guy were a strange mix of friendship and apathy, so she never quite knew how to handle these random bursts of  _ caring _ that seemed to become more and more frequent.)

 

Screams echoed into the night from the haunted house next to her, soon drowned out by the circus march coming from the loudspeakers. Shaw started heading towards the main area of the carnival; the refreshment stand had crappy beer and she kind of wanted some after the night she’d had, just something to enjoy before she had to make the trip back to the city on her own.

 

The beer splashed against the edge of the cup as Shaw noticed a familiar face in the crowd; Root was leaning against one of the light posts, a swirly of blue fluff in her hand. She looked like someone who hadn’t been gone for— god, Shaw couldn’t even remember, but it had to have been at least eight numbers ago, in the dark underground garage.

 

“Nice timing,” Shaw commented as she approached the hacker. “Missed all the fun.”

 

“Says who?” Root asked, making eye contact with Shaw as she pinched the cotton candy between her digits; something tightened inside Shaw as she watched Root eat the blue sugary confection, her tongue darting back out to clean the slender fingers.

 

Shaw moved closer to Root, her feet practically moving of their own volition. They had been extremely busy lately, the Machine spitting out more numbers than she thought possible; it’s not as if either of them seemed eager to talk about that evening in Shaw’s apartment or the moment in the stolen car those weeks before. As a rule of thumb, Shaw was 100% okay with avoiding any talk, but she still felt annoyed that they hadn’t even had the chance to consider it. 

 

“You know that has  _ no _ nutritional value, right?” Shaw asked, doing her best to look disapproving as Root popped another chunk of fluff in her mouth.

 

Root smirked, wisps of blue sticking out before she could lick them off. “And your beer does?” 

 

“Touche,” Shaw said as she took another sip. 

 

“Carnival food was always my favorite,” Root offered. “When She mentioned this place, I figured it’d be worth the drive to Jersey.”

 

“It’s okay, but I could really do without the shitty circus music,” Shaw pointed out.

 

“I think we can take care of that, right?” Root asked, glancing upwards. Softer ambience music filled the air around them, nothing to Shaw’s taste but it was still better than the repetitive notes from before.

 

“Think She can get us one of those? Pretty sure Bear would love it,” Shaw joked as a young girl walked past them with a stuffed monkey hanging from her arms.

 

“Let’s see about that,” Root replied as she ate the last piece of the cotton candy. 

 

They made their way into the dense crowd, pausing every so often; Shaw didn’t exactly mind as Root closed the distance between them. 

 

“There,” Root pointed towards the stand with the air gun and tin ducks. Shaw’s face broke into a knowing smirk as Root handed the worker a handful of tickets. 

 

They shot together, side by side, all of the ducks hit with precision; still, Shaw noticed several of the ducks she shot sprang back up. “Did you see that?” Shaw asked Root in disbelief as the buzzer rang and half the ducks were still standing.

 

“Calm down. Everyone knows these are rigged,” Root tried to reason with her, which had the exact opposite effect on Shaw.

 

“That’s bullshit,” Shaw added as the stand worker held his hands in feigned innocence before reseting the game.

 

“Here, give me yours,” Root commanded as she dropped another handful of tickets on the counter and reached for Shaw’s air gun. She closed her eyes as the game started back up, both guns aiming at the same duck each time, firing half a second apart with surgical precision; the rigged mechanism was unable to keep up, 

 

“What the—“ the stand worker started to ask as the buzzer rang again, the red strobe light at the top of the stand flashing to mark a perfect score.

 

“We’ll take the monkey,” Shaw added as she pointed to the stuffed animal hanging from the stand’s canopy. 

  
  


*

  
  


“So soon?” Root asked, and Shaw was confused for a second until she remembered their omnipotent friend.

 

The realization she felt somewhat disappointed that the evening was ending made Shaw feel utterly ridiculous, so she just chucked the rest of her hot dog in the trash.

 

“When was your last day off?” Shaw asked, trying to sound disinterested; she expected Root to make some off the cuff comment about her  _ caring _ , but Root just shrugged instead.

 

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride back to the city,” she added, taking the keys out of her pocket and throwing them at Shaw.

 

When they came across Root’s bike, the corner of Shaw’s mouth widened slowly, taking in the the two helmets conveniently strapped to the side. “I’ve never really driven one of these that far.”

 

Root handed her the helmet with a cryptic smile, before putting her own on. “I can talk you through it,” she explained through the bluetooth connection.

 

Shaw wasted no time getting on the bike, testing its weight; seemed good enough, and it’s not like it was her first time driving one. She was just more used to riding one in the city, not through Jersey suburbs and tree-lined highways. The bike dipped slightly when Root got on behind her; when Shaw rode bitch it was easier because of her smaller frame and shorter legs. Root seemed to have nowhere to go except to mold herself to Shaw’s entire form, hands wrapping around Shaw’s middle. 

 

“I can probably drive this thing better if I have some room to breathe, you know?” Shaw added, feeling the soft rumbling of amusement travel from Root’s chest all the way to the soft laughter that made it to Shaw’s ears. Root’s thighs still pressed against the outside of hers, but Shaw figured it was more of an inevitability than a clever ruse - though really, with Root who knew? - and the tight grip around her middle turned into just two hands softly gripping Shaw’s hips.

 

It was enough of a progress that Shaw made it out of the parking lot, feeling the brisk evening air quickly cooling her body; she was definitely not dressed for riding, and she felt colder and colder as the journey continued.

 

“There’s a sharp turn up ahead on the right,” Root warned, with that self assured tone she got when she was just repeating the Machine’s words. “Remember to lean—“

 

“Lean right, I know. I’ve done this before,” Shaw interrupted. She took a deep breath as they went around the curve with no incident. “Don’t you ever get tired of the constant flood of information coming through?”

 

“No,” was Root’s reply. “You know that feeling of being alone in a crowd? Of drifting away in a sea of human experiences that feel so… otherworldly to people like you and me?” Root’s left hand spread open against Shaw’s stomach through the soft cotton of her shirt, a physical manifestation of this unexpected bond between them. Shaw wanted to tell her they were not the same type of people, but she… didn’t. “It just— it all stops mattering. She gives me focus.”

 

“I’m not— I just think you should be careful, okay?” Shaw added. (She’d already lost one partner  to this game. Cole had just been a pawn, and Root… Root was more than a pawn. Shaw might not know what she wanted, but having another partner die in her arms was definitely not it.)

 

Root squeezed her hip. “Close your eyes.”

 

“I’m driving this thing,” Shaw reminded.

 

“Trust me,” Root commanded.

 

Shaw huffed, the inside of her visor briefly fogging up before the protective coating cleared it up again. But then her eyelids fluttered close, her entire body focusing on keeping the bike on a straight line. 

 

“Twenty degree turn up ahead, in five… four… three…” Root’s fingers tightened around Shaw’s hipbones as she continued to count down.

 

Shaw’s eyes slammed open before Root counted down to one, the deep need for control within her waging war with the thrill seeker.

 

“You have to let it go,” Root added, fingers releasing the tight hold against Shaw’s hipbones until they were slipping under the hem of Shaw’s shirt; she could feel the slight leftover stickiness from the cotton candy rubbing against her skin in soft strokes.

 

Shaw wanted to pull off to the side of the road; wanted to ask Root what the fuck she was doing. (Though she highly doubted Root had an answer for that - an answer that would please Shaw without making all of this so much worse.)

 

Her breathing became more labored, the helmet feeling irrationally constraining; the chill on her skin from the cooling air was pretty much gone, Root’s body heat spreading against her back. Asking Root to stop would mean giving up the game, so Shaw steeled herself and let her eyes drift closed again.

 

“Good,” Root whispered softly; the red hot rage within Shaw flaring up again. “Pull just slightly to the right— there, now keep steady pressure on the clutch, you’ll feel when you need to change gears.”

 

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Shaw argued, but followed the instructions anyway.

 

“There’s a car forty feet ahead. There’s a couple arguing inside; he’s a car salesman, she’s a nurse who has been texting her boss an awful lot. Pass it on the right,” Root ordered.

 

Shaw tensed at the order and the unnecessary commentary, but Root’s fingers squeezed again; the wind swept at them, thick cold gusts like whips as Shaw leaned forward, trying to diminish the air resistance before they ended up at a hospital or worse. Mostly she didn’t want to consider Finch’s disapproving yet concerned glares if they crashed.

 

“Slow down, there’s a cop up ahead. Though he appears to be looking at websites of the questionable variety on his cell phone, so I doubt he’ll be an issue,” Root added.

 

Shaw slowed down anyways. “Seriously, all of this useless trivia about people doesn’t get old?”

 

“They are why we do what we do…  you’ve got to understand people, Sameen. Even the cheating nurse or the state trooper back there. That’s what She’s given me,” Root explained.

 

“Is that right?” Shaw asked, but there was no bite to the words, no punch at all. She had never actually considered the Machine that much; even Root’s bond to the A.I. was something that was just  _ factual _ to the point that Shaw hadn’t devoted much thought to it. Yet as undefinable as her feelings towards Root were, the realization dawned that she would never comprehend Root if she didn’t understand Root’s bond to the Machine. 

 

Shaw became painfully aware that whatever exercise Root had just tried had only scratched the surface. 

 

“She worries about you,” Root added after a beat, the pointy end of her helmet pressing into Shaw’s shoulder. 

 

Shaw didn’t respond, because she never quite knew how to handle Root when she was in this prophet-like mode; she kept her eyes open the rest of the way into the city. The sound of Root pointing out random things became white noise to Shaw, the vibrations of the motorcycle’s engine below her keeping her focused while Root’s short strokes against her skin did the exact opposite.

 

Once they reached her building, there was one of those smart cars she always made fun of parked out front, and she wasted no time pulling into the empty area in front of it. She removed her helmet, breathing in the autumn air and exhaling slowly. The sounds of the city became almost overwhelming after nothing but Root’s voice in her ear for the past hour; she wasn’t sure how Root could deal with this 24/7.

 

Root opened her visor as she scooted forward on the bike, her feet finding the pedals with more ease than Shaw’s had. “You know,” Root said with an uncharacteristic smile, “this was the most fun I’ve had on a date in… well, ever,” Root offered with a grin, throwing the stuffed monkey at Shaw.

 

“That wasn’t a date,” Shaw argued as she caught the prize toy.

 

“Maybe you just haven’t been on a date so long that you forgot what they look like,” Root replied with a smirk as she pulled the visor down.

 

Shaw pulled her phone out of her pocket as she watched Root zipping through traffic until she was just a blur in the horizon.  _ Not a date _ , she texted before she went into her apartment building.

 

The reply came two hours later, as Shaw got out of the shower. 

 

_ Looking forward to our next non-date then. _

 

Shaw took the battery out of her phone, intentionally blocking the Machine from seeing her reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the last update for a while; I've been working on chapter 5 like a fiend, but the only problem is I'm still missing chapter 4. So... we'll see :)


	4. but I want what I want, and I gotta get it

* * *

 

Shaw wasn’t exactly surprised when her body almost collided with Root’s as she turned around the corner; it was the closest to the underground subway station.

 

“Jesus, wear a bell around your neck or something,” Shaw greeted as Root fell into step next to her.

 

“You were the one moving,” Root pointed out, “.. but I’m up for anything you have in mind,” she offered with a leer, though it lacked its usual bite. 

 

Shaw looked around to the chaos around them. NYC traffic was bad enough  _ with _ working traffic lights. “Kinda weird, huh?” Shaw asked. “Know what this is about?”

 

Root shook her head and shrugged; Shaw couldn’t help but notice Root’s peacoat suddenly seemed three sizes too big on her. “She hasn’t— She’s been quiet since everything went out,” Root explained.

 

“Oh,” Shaw replied before falling silent the rest of the way.

 

“Miss Shaw, you’re finally here! I was starting to get worried,” Harold announced with relief, his face illuminated by a handful of old gas lanterns spread around the old train car. “.. and I see you brought Miss Groves as well.”

 

Shaw ignored the remark; there was a small part of her that had wanted to let Harold know Root had just followed her, but the bigger part of her did not care enough to clarify the situation. “What’s happening out there, Harold? Another blackout— Samaritan?”

 

“I am sorry to say this extends far beyond a blackout, Miss Shaw,” Harold informed her. “We are living through a true Carrington Event.”

 

“What does that mean?” John asked from his spot.

 

Harold didn’t miss a beat. “In 1859, a major solar storm disrupted all telegraph communications in the world; the phenomenon was explained by Richard Carrington, a British scientist. For decades there has been speculation of what would happen to modern society when another event of such magnitude hit Earth. Theories have ranged from the destruction of every electronic device, to a new shift in the axis of the Earth.”

 

“Is She—“ Root’s voice sounded so small, “The Machine, is She gone?”

 

“While we can’t know for sure,” Harold explained, “I do not believe so. She was built with measures to ensure her safety, but never on such a scale as this. What I do know is she is essentially cut off from us, and us from her for the time being. Our biggest problem appears to be global telecommunication satellites being incapacitated; those satellites are in a geosynchronous orbit, meaning they take roughly one day to go around the Earth. The entire half of the planet closest to the sun at the peak of the storm was affected the most,” Finch explained, unrolling an old world map.

 

“Communications went down at 8:27am Eastern Daylight time, which means this area,” he added, tracing an arced line that went through the Rockies, and another all the way in the middle East, “this area was hit the hardest.”

 

“What happens now?” Shaw asked. “Everyone in those areas is back to the Dark Ages?”

 

“No, satellites will be repaired and others will be re-tasked; not all satellites were affected, but the ones that are still up are overloaded. The power grid in the Eastern Seaboard has been hit much harder because of older technology being used, not to mention the population density in this area; complete restoration of the grid may take weeks or months depending on the extent of the damage, but certain services should be available much sooner.”

 

“What about Samaritan?” John asked. 

 

“We cannot be certain,” Finch explained. “But Samaritan has access to both government satellites as well as private satellites, including Chinese ones that are still almost fully operational. Because of this, any telecommunication traffic will likely be under high scrutiny.”

 

Shaw cringed; Samaritan up meant they were still at risk, but at the same time, it meant someone would still hopefully be working relevant threats.  “What about everything else that depends on electronics? Hospitals for one?”

 

“Hospitals have had protocols in place for an event such as this since Y2K; airlines, police departments and the stock market have similar measures as well. Take these,” Finch added as he dumped a box full of pre-paid cellphones and spare batteries on top of the map. “The cellular antennas have been removed, so our position can’t be triangulated; the wireless finder is still enabled. I’ve made use of a newfound technology called mesh networking, so these phones will be able to connect to each other even in the absence of normal telecommunications. Unfortunately the range is rather limited, around a six-block-radius.”

 

“So we’re basically staying put until further notice?” Shaw asked, already feeling antsy.

 

“Think of it as a snow day, Sameen,” Root offered as she picked up one of the handsets and two spare batteries.

 

“I hated snow days,” Shaw pointed out.

 

“Me too,” John agreed, picking up his phone.

 

“We should check in in approximately twelve hours,” Harold announced as the group began to disperse.

 

*

 

“It’s gonna be— uh, what’s the tax rate again?” The clerk with bad acne asked the bodega owner, who was also struggling with a battery-operated calculator.

 

“Just take the $20,” Shaw added as she thrust the bill at the kid and picked up the bundle of seven-day religious candles from the counter. She’d come close to winning the struggle for the last multi-pack of plain white candles, but Root had reminded her that pulling a gun in the crowded store would’ve been a bad idea.

 

The fact that  _ Root _ had been the one to reason with her wasn’t lost on Shaw.

 

“At least the weather’s nice,” Shaw commented; her expression turned into a frown as she realized it sounded an awful lot like an attempt at small talk. “Just, you know, don’t need to worry about anyone dying from hypothermia or hyperthermia.”

 

Root nodded absentmindedly, her eyes focused on the chaos around them; it did remind Shaw of the blackout, except the sun was shining bright above them.

 

A black and white squad car made slow progress through traffic, a pudgy officer on a loudspeaker informing everyone about the outages and asking the population at large not to panic.

 

“So, um… see you in twelve hours?” Shaw asked when Root stopped in front of a coffee shop.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Root replied.

 

Shaw held her candles closer as she walked away from the hacker, halfway down the block before she realized Root hadn’t gotten any candles for herself. Shaw closed her eyes tightly, an internal struggle taking place in her mind.

 

In the end, she walked back, finding a distraught Root at the same exact spot.

 

“Here,” Shaw said, pulling a candle out of the paper bag; she quickly glanced at it before thrusting it at Root. “St. Jude, how fitting.”

 

Root, snapped out of her reverie, examined the candle with a curious gaze. “I didn’t know you were Catholic,” she added.

 

“That’s ‘cause I’m not,” Shaw replied. “My father’s mother; Mass every Sunday and all that crap.” Shaw remembered the religious statues that had littered the piano in the living room, remembered the long lectures about St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.

 

“Is she still…?” Root asked.

 

Shaw shrugged. “Not sure; we weren’t close. Last time I saw her was at the funeral,” she explained. The woman had never approved of Shaw’s mother, and consequently had never cared for little Sameen; Shaw was fairly positive the woman would approve even less now.

 

When she met Root’s eyes, she found the hacker completely enthralled, examining Shaw’s features as if she could see every inch of her. Shaw felt raw from the gaze, as if she’d granted Root full access to all of her memories without realizing.

 

“Is your place nearby?” Shaw asked, doing her best to break the spell.

 

Root shook her head, a self-conscious sad smile spreading. “I don’t— she usually tells me where I can stay.”

 

The admission struck Shaw harder than she’d expected; a mix of concern and guilt washing over her. Shaw’s concept of  _ home _ had been very abstract, even in her childhood; military bases, group or foster homes, then military bases again. By the time she got a place of her own, she’d forgotten what a home felt like; the one-bedroom by the train tracks had reeked of nicotine and cat piss, but it’d offered a roof above her head after she pulled thirty-six hour shifts at the hospital.

 

Shaw wanted to ignore this newfound knowledge about Root, sweep it under the metaphorical rug that was her limbic system. Instead she just took the candle from Root’s hand and threw it back in the paper bag. “Come on,” she said simply, hearing Root’s soft footsteps behind her.

 

*

 

Shaw’s apartment was stuffy from the lack of ventilation, so she asked Root to open the windows while she went through her fridge, throwing out most perishables. She quickly dropped the trash bag down the chute in the hallway, hoping that basic trash pickup would resume before the whole city began to smell.

 

Once she was back inside her apartment, she dumped a bag of ice into the cooler she’d picked up on the way home, and what was left of her fridge contents went into the cooler, save for two beers that she left on the counter. The work kept her busy, so she didn’t have time to remind herself that bringing Root home with her had been a bad idea; they’d probably shoot each other from the boredom long before the twelve hours were up.

 

Shrugging it off for the time being, she grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, heading into the bathroom so she could change. When she emerged, Root was still in her navy blue peacoat, staring out into the city.

 

“I forgot how quiet everything was,” Root said, temporarily glancing at Shaw.

 

Shaw grabbed the two beers, popping the caps off and handing one to Root. “I’m pretty sure you’re the first person to ever call New York City quiet,” she commented, the sounds of horns and distant voices flooding her ears.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Root said, taking a sip of the beer and instantly twisting her nose in disgust. 

 

Shaw watched Root closely, the helix of her ear peeking through her hair, the sure line of her jaw and the softness of the lips. “I know,” Shaw replied. 

 

“I’ve always wondered what I’d do if She were gone.” Root leaned her head against the window frame and took another sip of the beer.

 

Shaw turned her back to the city, pressed her shoulder blades against the glass. “What  _ would _ you do?”

 

Root chuckled under her breath, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “That’s just the thing, I’ve never figured out.”

 

Shaw wasn’t comfortable with Root’s resignation. “You did survive an entire lifetime before the machine, you know?” 

 

Root didn’t answer right away and Shaw could feel Root’s gaze on her; turnabout was fair play. (Even if neither of them actually played fair.)

 

“Do you remember when we first met?” Root asked quietly.

 

“You mean when you were pretending to be someone else?” Shaw pointed out.

 

Root smiled, a genuine smile this time. “Exactly,” she said, taking a sip of her beer, her eyes turning serious again as she swallowed. “I don’t want to go back to that.”

 

Shaw felt Root’s fear, manifesting almost physically, thick and desperate like a plea; the emotion felt foreign to Shaw after so many years, and she felt her own body respond to it, adrenaline kicking in followed by fight or flight.

 

The bottle of beer sat precariously on the windowsill as Shaw tried to close the gap between them; Root was unnervingly still, her only motion was closing her eyes as Shaw’s hand reached up to cradle her face, thumb pressing against Root’s chin to angle it down and compensate for Root’s added height.

 

Shaw kept her eyes wide open as she pressed her lips against Root’s, so so soft; nothing like their previous kiss. (Nothing like any kiss Shaw’s had before.)

 

Root gasped into her mouth, as if her brain had been on a ten-second delay - zero to sixty, Shaw’s head slammed against the window, Root’s hands gripping her sides so tightly that Shaw didn’t have to look to know the skin would bruise. Root’s thigh found its way between Shaw’s legs like it belonged there, pressure and heat, and Shaw felt like her lungs were running at 50% capacity, her body barely registering the beer washing over her toes.

 

Shaw bit Root’s lower lip when the hacker’s hand traveled over Shaw’s abdomen until it was brushing against her breast, pinching and squeezing through the fabric until Shaw was practically panting into the kiss. 

 

As Root nipped her way down Shaw’s throat, Shaw still kept her eyes open; the daylight and wall to wall windows of Shaw’s apartment added a sharpness to the whole affair that Shaw wanted desperately to witness.

 

When Root’s lips closed around her nipple, Shaw wrapped her hand in the taller woman’s hair, deftly avoiding the scars for the time being. Root pulled away, the grey cotton had turned almost black, the fabric sticking to Shaw’s ultra-sensitive skin; Root repeated the action on the other side, stopping only when Shaw pulled her back up, lips crashing together as Shaw tightened her legs, desperate for added friction.

 

Root’s hand slid into the front of Shaw’s sweats unceremoniously, fingers spreading Shaw open and finding her slick; Shaw’s muscles squeezed Root’s fingers when they expertly glided into place, until Shaw could only focus on the thought that she’d known it would end like this since the moment they’d met.

 

(She expected more bruises and more blood; gunpowder and sweat. Instead, it smelled like the inside of Shaw’s apartment and New York air and a third element; Shaw had never taken Root’s scent into consideration as it permeated the empty space between them, never stopped to think of what the mixture would do to her parietal lobe, settling into place like an old memory.)

 

Root’s free hand wrapped around the base of Shaw’s head, grip tightening until Shaw was looking up at Root; Root’s gaze dropped to Shaw’s lips, and Shaw could only imagine what she looked like, mouth open as she gasped for air. Her hips began to move purposefully, small fretful moves between the windowsill and the heel of Root’s hand. 

 

The hacker twisted her hand until she was brushing against the right spot. She tilted her head and smiled dangerously at Shaw. It was a dare and a promise -  _ permission _ , Shaw realized as she came.

 

Minutes later, as Shaw laid Root on her unmade bed, she thought of the rigged carnival game; the curves of Root’s breasts were softer than soft when Shaw brushed her lips against them.  As her mouth covered Root’s sex, hips raising off the bed like recoil, Shaw tried not to notice Root’s black nail polish against the wrinkled sheets.

 

When Root’s knuckles turned white and her toes curled around Shaw’s waist, Shaw thought of the silent Machine, feeling grateful that they had no unseen spectator at that very moment.

 

*

 

Shaw didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she woke up the sun had already set, shrouding her apartment in darkness. Reaching out to the spot next to her in the bed, she found it empty; it didn’t surprise her even as she felt a foreign pang of disappointment in her gut.

 

The sound of running water coming from the bathroom was unexpected, the door opening shortly after. Shaw cleared her throat as her eyes could barely make out the shape of Root’s nude body walking towards her. “The candles,” Shaw said as she blindly searched for her discarded clothes.

 

“Not yet,” Root replied as she slid back into bed. “Look,” she added, fingers grasping Shaw’s chin and lifting her head until they were staring upwards. Faint colors danced across the ceiling, colors refracted once or twice over.

 

“Northern lights,” Shaw deduced as she continued to stare in fascination.

 

“Ironic,” Root commented as she moved Shaw’s hair out of the way, her lips finding the column of Shaw’s throat.

 

“I’m not good with this part,” Shaw admitted, even as she tilted her head to the side to provide Root with better access.

 

“What part?” Root asked innocently. 

 

“This,” Shaw replied, motioning between them. “I don’t do morning afters.”

 

“Good thing it’s not morning then,” Root pointed out, the pads of her fingers brushing against the inside of Shaw’s thigh. 

 

“You know what I mean,” Shaw protested as she moved until her knee could settle between Root’s thighs; the moist warmth felt intoxicating.

 

She could feel Root’s smile against her skin before Root replied: “Sometimes, I do.”

 

Shaw gasped for breath when Root’s fingers traced her, neon green and pink reflecting off Root’s skin.

 

(Getting off had never been a problem for Shaw; quick and easy was perfectly fine with her. But this— this  _ anticipation _ was something she wasn’t used to, kept tripping her up.)

 

The spell broke when Root’s form went stiff against her; pulling away from Shaw instantly. Both of them had been moments away from their respective orgasms, so they sat in opposite corners of the bed, softly panting with frustration. Shaw wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, but she waited nonetheless.

 

“She— She’s awake,” Root explained, cradling her ear.

 

“Oh,” Shaw replied, trying not to let her voice convey the disappointment within her. “Somewhere you gotta be?”

 

Root took a deep breath, nodding. Shaw could hardly see her, but the mattress bobbed up and down slightly with the movement.

 

Shaw found her tank top, slid it on along with a pair of fresh sweats from the laundry basket. Moving to the kitchen area, she found the paper bag full of candles and took a couple out, lighting them until there was an ember glow to the room. 

 

Shaw’s kitchenware weren’t part of a set, just an odd number of mismatched pieces; she grabbed one of the glasses and filled it up with tap water, chugging it down and hoping it washed down the knot in her throat.

 

Root appeared moments later, coat unbuttoned and hair sticking up where Shaw had grasped it earlier. “I’m uh— this could be a while,” Root explained.

 

Shaw shrugged. “Figured as much.” Her tone wasn’t as childish as it could’ve been, but it was still somewhat petulant.

 

“Thank you… not for the— well that too,” Root added with a leer, but Shaw thought she could make just the beginning of a blush in the poor lighting, but before she could verify it had disappeared. “Thank you,” Root offered again before her hand was on the door handle.

 

Shaw bit her lip. “You got backup? Not counting the Machine, I mean.” 

 

Root shook her head. “She says it won’t be necessary.”

 

Shaw narrowed her eyes; “You always believe what she says?” she asked even though she already knew the answer.

 

Root offered a sad smile before she was closing the door behind her.

 

Shaw watched for a second, frozen in place before she was propelled into motion, sliding one of the utility drawers open before slamming it shut again. She found Root at the landing by the stairs. “Here,” Shaw explained as she thrust a flashlight into Root’s hands. “Take care of yourself, Root.”

 

“Careful or someone might think you care, Sameen,” Root offered, her tone teasing and a smile spreading. “You should go back, Harold is about to contact you.”

 

Shaw nodded and turned away, heading back to her apartment.

 

Days later when the power was restored and Shaw cleaned her apartment, tossing all of the empty glass containers with cheap religious figures stamped on them, she noticed one was missing.

 

It bothered her almost as much as the beer stain by the windowsill.


	5. i’m burning alive i can barely breathe

* * *

 

“Shaw’s missing,” the words had hung in the air. “The Brotherhood is behind it.”

 

The fact it was John calling her only made things worse. “No, it can’t be, She would have told me,” Root argued. “She would have told me,” she repeated, the silence in her ear sounded an awful lot like an admission of guilt.

 

“We’re going to find her,” John stated unwaveringly, his voice deep with  _ something  _ unfamiliar to Root; compassion perhaps, pity or concern… perhaps all of them, and the reaction within her was so negative she had to force herself not to say anything (not yet at least). John continued, “I just— Finch thought you should know.”

 

She clicked the phone off, stared into the distance, eyes glazing over in a way they hadn’t in a long time. 

 

(Root remembered the nightmares after Hanna; remembered waking up drenched in sweat, screaming. Most of all, she remembered her mother shushing her.  _ People leave, Samantha. That’s what they’re good at. All they’re good at. _

 

Root had argued once; Hanna didn’t  _ choose _ to leave - no, Samantha had argued it. Root was only being born back then. Root wouldn’t have wasted time arguing semantics with someone like her mother. Either way, the argument hadn’t gotten far.)

 

“You had no right!” She shouted into her phone, tears began to stream down her face.

 

_ Irrelevant threat. 77% chance of system survival without asset. 92% chance of increased risk to existing assets in case of retrieval attempt. _

 

Root’s manic laughter died at her lips. “It’s a trap. You’re telling me it’s a trap. Of course it’s a trap!” The Machine had always taken different shapes in her mind; she’d never expected it would take the shape of the small town Librarian. “I have done everything you have asked me to; she is not irrelevant. Tell me everything you know,” she demanded, wiping at her face and nose. 

 

There was a pause, five or ten seconds at most, but it felt like an eternity before She spoke again.

 

_ Downloading last known location of asset. _

 

Root had been in Boston when she got the call; she crossed into Manhattan less than three hours later. 

 

“Tell me where she is,” she demanded as she held the Brotherhood member by jacket, thirty-five stories up.  It was the fifth member she’d uncovered, and so far they had all been uncooperative.

 

“I don’t know!” he shouted, desperately trying to grasp her jacket or any part of her he could. “I just got a text with the chick’s picture and the payoff.”

 

Root pulled the man back, dropping him on the floor of the terrace. The Brotherhood was no well-oiled machine; she figured this was more of a crime of opportunity than planning. The Machine had mentioned Shaw blowing up one of their distribution venues the previous day.

 

The idea that there was almost no premeditation wasn’t a comfort; there had been enough for the Machine to have picked up on and told her. “Show me your phone.”

 

“You can’t trace it back,” the man pointed out as she pushed him into the apartment. “It’s a burner.”

 

“I’m not tracing  _ it _ ,” she offered.

 

She plugged one end of the cord into her phone, the other on the man’s; within seconds she had traced the SMS back to its origin device - which was off as she expected, but it gave her enough data to pull up all SMS phones the bounty had been texted to.

 

_ Cross referencing the triangulated positions with last known whereabouts of asset. _

 

Root couldn’t watch; she just closed her eyes until her phone vibrated with a license plate and a slowly moving needle on a map. She took a deep breath before she turned her attention back to the Brotherhood’s member.

 

“Thank you for your cooperation, but I can’t have you alerting your friends about our meeting,” she explained before shooting him up with a sedative.

 

The clock was running out; she was painful aware of it.

 

She called Harold with the information; disconnected the call when he advised her against going in by herself.

 

*

 

When the explosive charge she set at the end of the bridge went off, the Brotherhood member driving the vehicle just barely managing to brake in time. Root watched as the car spun out of control on the icy road, going over the protective sidewall and falling on the cold water below. Root didn’t flinch; she’d already known the odds.

 

_ Survival chance diminishing. High risks: - drowning - hypothermia - blunt trauma. _

 

Root heard the approaching sirens; she managed to make out John and Lionel in the first approaching squad car, right before she plunged into the near freezing water of the river.

 

_ Implant failure imminent. CommunCATion unrELIAB__ at thIS DE__H.  _

 

(Root had liked swimming once, back when she had been someone else; Hanna had been the real swimmer, tall form unbearably gracious in the school pool. She remembered the trophies in Hanna’s room, proud parents on the stands. Sam had never gotten good at it: no money for private classes, no reliable adult transportation to meets; but she would walk to the school pool  during the summer, two miles back and forth under the unforgiving sun of Texas. 

 

Her favorite part of it was how quiet everything was underwater; how she could stay perfectly still for what felt like an eternity, not a worry in the world. She hadn’t liked coming back up for air, the sounds assaulting her senses, the smell of chlorine everywhere. But sometimes, Hanna would come by and show Sam what her coach had taught her that week, and they would practice for hours. On even rarer occasions, Hanna’s dad would invite Sam for dinner, and she could get a glimpse of what normal life was like; what normal families looked like.)

 

Root wasn’t thinking about white picket fences as she swam towards the vehicle; the light from the sky above was fading at this depth, but she could still see the Brotherhood member struggling with his seatbelt. The car stopped at the bottom, on its nose in an admirable balancing act. Root focused on the still form in the backseat. 

 

The rear window barely protested against the heel of Root’s boot, but it didn’t break evenly, just tiny fractures along tempered glass. Holding her breath was starting to cloud her vision but she continued until there was a hole large enough. The air bubble from inside the car moved past her and she knew they were now on borrowed time.

 

She was never as grateful for Shaw’s smaller frame as she was in this moment; she kept a tight grip around the smaller woman’s middle as Root tried to swim with just her three remaining limbs. 

 

Root felt a burning deep in her chest, lactic acid building up in her legs. She gasped involuntarily, feeling the cold water invading her lungs before she held her breath again. Her hand reached something different, cold and harsh, and it wasn’t until she felt something clasping her hand that she realized it had been  _ air. _ Finally air, and John’s hand had clasped hers at the riverbank, the large, almost lanky frame of the man she’d always made fun of was able to effortlessly pull her weight and Shaw’s out of the water.

 

Fusco looked— she wasn’t sure what he looked like when he wrapped the woolen blanket around her; she wasn’t sure because no one had ever looked at her like that. 

 

(Something inside of her knew it was how people should have looked at her - at Sam - after Hanna, instead of the questioning eyes or the insults or the skepticism.)

 

John began CPR as the ambulance sirens got closer and closer. “A hospital— it wouldn’t be safe for her, for any of us,” she tried to say between chattering teeth.

 

“These are some of our guys, they’ll keep it quiet,” Fusco reassured her. “Where’s the driver?”

 

She shrugged, because there was distinct possibility he was stuck in the car still, and even if he wasn’t, she didn’t care. If he were dead, she would considered a small price to pay; if he were alive, she would find him.

 

“No chance of a witness statement then, let me guess,” Fusco asked, flipping his notepad open. “I’ve been writing so many fake reports, I could be the next Stephen King.”

 

Root was spared the need to reply to Fusco when Shaw’s chest surged, John quickly turning her over so the water got out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much the reason I wrote the whole thing; I was fascinated by the idea of The Machine keeping something from Root to keep Root safe, even if it meant sacrificing Shaw (which won't happen bc I am a sap and I cannot write character death worth a damn).


	6. it’s dangerous to fall in love

* * *

 

Root bundled herself into the recliner chair; it was leather covered with plastic, and it squeaked every time she moved, but it was at least sterilized on a regular basis. The bandage over where her IV had gone in still ached every time she moved her arm, and she hadn’t bothered with removing the hospital bracelet yet. Even though she’d been officially released for hours now, grateful that John had been considerate enough to bring both the women a change of clothes.

 

Shaw was still under observation; the near drowning and hypothermia dangers had been quickly addressed, and she now looked warm again. Root stared at the unconscious woman, wanted to reach out to touch her. Instead, Root pulled the sleeves of her sweater until they covered her palms, and tried to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible, in hopes they wouldn’t kick her out once visitor hours ended.

 

As Shaw had been stabilized, bruises had darkened letting Root see the extent of the damage done. The marks were recognizable and gruesome - as far as torture went, the evidence pointed to a rather primal and untrained perpetrator to Root’s eyes. She knew with certainty Shaw hadn’t broken; likely the reason why she’d been heading up north, bound for execution.

 

The fainter wounds were the worst for Root: thin red bands where the zip-ties had restrained Shaw, a multicolored bruise on her upper arm and shoulder that looked like high-impact wound from throwing herself against a door or wall.

 

Shaw stirred in her sleep, hospital bed shaking from the unexpected movement. She grunted and groaned and Root approached her carefully. “Hey,” she murmured.

 

More groaning took place, Root leaning down closer to the hospital bed. “B—Bear…”

 

Root smiled, ran her fingers across the exposed skin of Shaw’s arm in an attempt to comfort. “Bear’s okay, he found his way back home,” Root explained; she’d gotten the abridged version of the abduction: Brotherhood retaliation for Shaw’s earlier hit, Shaw had been taken hours later while walking Bear. She’d fought, taking down four competing members of the Brotherhood before she was knocked unconscious.

 

(Fusco had called, casually mentioning the ‘stiff’ they’d pulled three miles downriver, high lieutenant in the Brotherhood, rap sheet a mile long. Root had felt oddly touched that Fusco had called to reassure her, which had bothered him enough to hang up.)

 

Shaw reached towards the plastic water jug; Root had heard the instructions from the staff so she poured the liquid water out in the sink before she handed Shaw a cup with just ice chips, ignoring the glare on Shaw’s face as she settled her hip on the hospital bed.

 

“What happened?” Shaw asked when she could, voice still raspy.

 

“Brotherhood,” she replied matter-of-factly.

 

Shaw frowned, looking like she was remembering what she’d lived through before she blacked out. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” She asked pointedly. 

 

It wasn’t an unfair question. Root had been gone the majority of the time since the blackouts and the subsequent brownouts the following weeks; she’d barely managed to cross paths with the Team. And Shaw— she’d stopped herself from seeking out Shaw, riddled with fear and uncertainty about where they stood.

 

Ignoring the tightness in her throat, Root shook her head. The silence in her ear felt unnatural, but it was nothing like the day Shaw had taken her home, when Root had desperately needed to hear Her; this time Root did not wish to hear anything except the steady beep of the heart monitor next to the hospital bed.

 

“I’m serious, Root,” Shaw added while loudly crunching the ice chips. “I’ve had worse. You should be out there, doing whatever it is She has you doing.”

 

“I’m not— I’m on a leave of absence,” Root replied, pouring more ice chips into Shaw’s cup; after returning the plastic jug to the tray, her gaze was fixed on a spot on the hospital blanket.

 

Shaw frowned, hand reaching for Root’s wrist. Her fingers tightened until Root made eye contact with Shaw again. “Wha—?”

 

The question was interrupted by a knock on the door; Root’s hand dropped to the blanket, and she was painfully aware that Shaw hadn’t let go of her wrist, anchoring her to that moment and place.

 

“Sam?” Came a peppy voice from the doorway.

 

“Yes?” Both women replied, before pausing awkwardly and staring at each other, Root still caught up in some of her memories from before.

 

“Let’s never do that again,” Shaw demanded before turning her attention back to the annoyingly perky nurse. “I’m uh, Sam. Sameen,” she clarified weakly, obviously unsure about what bogus last name they’d signed in with.

 

“I’m sorry, it said Sam in the chart and— yeah, don’t worry, we can fix it,” the young woman reassured her. “My name is Erica,” she explained, pointing to the whiteboard on the wall with Shaw’s initials and the names of her caregivers, along with information about her condition. The woman then turned to Root, “Ma’am, would you mind waiting outside while I examine your friend?”

 

Root was too tired to argue, so much of the fighting had left her; she tried to pull her hand back so she could get out of the room, but Shaw held tightly. “Stay,” she ordered, voice still raspy and needy. “She’s staying,” she added towards the nurse.

 

The nurse looked slightly uncomfortable; Root couldn’t blame her with the way Shaw was still staring daggers at the lithe framed nurse. 

 

“Bradycardia?” Shaw asked as the nurse ran a quick check of the monitor tape. 

 

“Are you a doctor?” The nurse asked excitedly. 

 

“Not quite,” Shaw replied open-endedly. 

 

The nurse nodded. “The doctor will be in tomorrow morning, but it seems your numbers stabilized quickly,” the woman explained.

 

Shaw seemed satisfied enough with that; “Hypothermia? How long was I out?”

 

The woman shook her head. “I’m not sure how long you were under; the EMTs just mentioned you were resuscitated right away with no complications. Your core temp was slightly below normal but it came back with just fluids and thermal blankets. Our biggest concerns at the moment are the concussion and acidosis, so we are continuing to monitor your oximetry and we had cultures sent to the lab just in case.”

 

Shaw’s free hand reached for her forehead, feeling the lump there; Root knew the trauma was likely from before the crash, but she hesitated to say anything in front of the nurse.

 

“I’m leaving,” Shaw announced, starting to slowly peel the tape around the IV out.

 

“You can’t— the doctor—” the nurse tried to stop her. “You need to be under observation. Concussions can be serious!”

 

Shaw laughed, this dry laughter that would be terrifying to anyone who didn’t know Sameen Shaw well. “I know how concussions go, okay? I also know all of the signs to look out for, and I can do this at home. You’ve got about five minutes while I get this out to bring me the AMA paperwork.”

 

The nurse panicked, swiveled on her feet and walked out the door.

 

“You shouldn’t—“ Root tried to reach for Shaw’s elbow. 

 

“I don’t do hospitals, okay? Not as a patient at least,” Shaw explained.

 

“Do you at least have someone who can monitor you for the concussion for the next twelve hours?” The nurse asked when she returned with the kit to remove the IV; Root’s throat tightened as Shaw’s eyes darted in her direction before glancing away, and Root knew Shaw was chastising herself for even considering it.

 

“She does,” Root replied for her.

  
  


*

  
  


They’d argued about going to Shaw’s place, since the bounty on her head had yet to be rescinded. In the end, Root had hailed a cab and given the driver directions to one of the safe houses she’d established. 

 

The blackout weeks before had caught Root unprepared, and she had taken precautions so it wouldn’t happen again. This safe house was one of the nicest ones, a brownstone on a relatively quiet street with several blind spots and three exit routes.

 

Shaw managed to make it up the front steps before her eyes began to droop. Root knew Shaw’s body could take a lot, but Shaw was still human like herself. “Come on,” Root encouraged as they got past the front door.

 

The place was sparsely furnished, but the guest bedroom on the main floor looked clean and tidy; Root peeled the dusty cover sheet to find the bed neatly made underneath. The comforter felt warm and fluffy as she pulled it back; Shaw wasted no time in kicking off her shoes and curling around one of the pillows.

 

“Look at me,” Root demanded when she returned minutes later with a glass of water. 

 

“I’m fine,” Shaw argued but complied, and Root could see Shaw’s abduction in her mind’s eye but she didn’t say anything; Shaw’s pupils were equal sized that was enough for the time being.

 

She dug through both of their belongings after she left Shaw to rest; Shaw’s phone had been busted the previous night, and Root’s was water damaged beyond repair. She realized she didn’t have any alarm clocks available; she didn’t feel like she’d fall asleep, but she didn’t want to take a chance. Hours before she would have been able to ask the Machine to wake her up, and the silence in her ear now was almost overwhelming.

 

The corner store had a cheap kitchen timer that was loud enough, and a crappy burner phone. The half dozen eggs and milk were an afterthought, and the pack of toothbrushes and toothpaste were practically a necessity, but she stopped herself short of smelling the travel sized shampoos and conditioners on the mesh wire shelf and imagining which ones Shaw would prefer; she threw the random bottles into her shopping basket and tried to ignore the tightness in her throat. 

 

(She thought of the trip to the bodega by Shaw’s old place after Shaw had fractured her collarbone; thought how elated she’d been to be the one to look after someone after so long. It had been so long since she’d stopped burning herself on the stove trying to cook breakfast in the small trailer, taking it to her mother in bed; finding it uneaten when she got back from school.) 

 

When Root got back to the safe house, Shaw was still asleep, but Root noticed half the water was gone from the glass on the nightstand; it was more than she’d expected, so she felt okay enough to take a shower and wash the river out of her hair. 

 

She fell asleep on a chair by the bed an hour later; her wet hair dripping down her back. When the timer went off, her back felt uncomfortably damp and sore. Shaw grunted at the noise, reaching for her gun, which luckily was not there. “Hey,” Root whispered softly “Sameen… look at me.”

 

Shaw did, but there was a glare in her features that hadn’t been there the night before. It was life blossoming back into existence; Root was so used to seeing the opposite that it felt like a warm burn between her ribs.

 

“That’s it,” Root offered, brushing her thumb across Shaw’s jaw; their eyes locked for a few moments longer, the wick of desire lighting up the way it often did between them, but she stomped it out; they were tired and she just— she couldn’t trust herself at the moment to keep the words from spilling out.

 

Root pulled away to reset the timer, setting it on the empty bureau by the door so she wouldn’t just try to snooze the thing while half-asleep.

 

“You shouldn’t sleep in chairs,” Shaw commented matter-of-factly. “I mean, you can but it’s dumb when there’s a bed here.”

 

Root felt lucky that her back had been turned when Shaw spoke; she’d managed to get her reaction down to a smirk before she slipped into bed, and quickly fell back asleep.

  
  


*

  
  


“You  _ cook _ ?” 

 

Root stopped scrambling the eggs to glance at Shaw’s confused face, bruises and contusions everywhere that the sunlight brushed, including her legs that had been bare since she’d gotten up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, cold toes bumping into Root’s calves under the covers when she’d slipped back into bed.

 

“It’s scrambled eggs, anyone can handle scrambled eggs,” Root explained as she returned to her task, stopping as soon as they weren’t runny anymore. 

 

They ate off the frying pan because she hadn’t managed to find the plates, and Shaw only looked slightly ill at the idea of food; she forced herself to eat anyway, and Root could see the resolve in the other woman’s face, watched as the meal brought some color to Shaw’s face that had been gone the day before.

 

“So, you blew up a bridge,” Shaw offered as she chewed a mouthful of eggs.

 

“Not the whole bridge,” she corrected.

 

“What happened to good old fashioned spike strips?” Shaw pointed out. “Or shooting out the tires?”

 

Root shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of time to prepare,” she justified. Once they’d narrowed down the location and presumed route of the car carrying Shaw, the Machine had spat out all manners of statistics and predicted outcomes; it was the first time in a long time that Root had fought to tune it out. 

 

The sound of the improvised explosion - which had done nothing but blow out the front tire and scare the driver into going over the sidewall - had marked the moment Root had seen the Machine’s biggest flaw: herself.

 

Shaw narrowed her eyes, and for a second Root felt like every part of her psyche was exposed and she held her breath—

 

— but Shaw cleared her throat and straightened up in her seat; “You know, these are okay… decent even,” she added as she stabbed another forkful of fluffy scrambled eggs.

 

Root took the words as forgiveness; she continued to glance at Sameen between bites, the two of them in a companionable silence.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to really thank everyone who's read and commented; I am really an awkward penguin when it comes to compliments and I usually freeze up about replying to feedback-- so really, thank you. Truly and sincerely, thank you for sticking with me and my unconventional storytelling, my excessive commas, semi-colons and parentheses and weird structure. *heart eyes emoji* x1000


	7. the pleasure’s pain and fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize it's taken this long for an update, and I thank chromestorm for SHAMING me into finishing :) I originally intended for this to be 5 parts, with the last part broken into 3 chapters. But I quickly realized that it didn't wrap what I wanted to tell, and then canon happened and I got ultra-blocked post Prophets.  
>  
> 
> I started writing this pre-S4, before Honor Among Thieves, and definitely long before If Then Else and everything since. I started this as a lighthearted fic and then got puzzled by the idea of the Machine protecting Root over the others, or what could possibly turn Root away from the Machine even temporarily. We now know She wasn’t programmed to value a life over another - though she does sometimes withhold info to keep the team on track - but I still wanted to explore that, and it kind of led to the antithesis of how things ended up in canon (despite the fact I’m 100% on board with the canon train).
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks madasaboxofcats and chromestorm for the beta duties (:

* * *

 

 

“I don’t need to be monitored any more,” Sameen pointed out the second night when Root followed her into the bedroom of the safe house. Finch had gotten word to them earlier that Samaritan agents had appeared at the hospital less than an hour after Shaw had checked herself out, and that meant they were staying put.

 

“Good, that means  _ I _ can get some sleep,” Root teased as she turned down the covers. 

 

“We should be out there,” Shaw said.

 

“Going out there in our current condition would be… a mistake,” Root reminded her. The Machine could still guide her in other ways, as she had long before the implant, but Root wasn’t sure if she  _ wanted _ to be guided any longer.

 

“I’m fine,” Shaw insisted.

 

“Yes, you are,” Root added with a smirk. “But I’d prefer your fine self to be back to your full strength before you have to fight off multiple Samaritan operatives trying to save the world.”

 

Shaw took a deep breath, and Root knew she had to be in more pain than she was letting on, because Shaw let the conversation end there for the time being.

 

As they got into bed, Root laid on her side facing Shaw who was staring intently at the ceiling, her long eyelashes fluttering as she fought her exhaustion. Even though there wasn’t much to do in the safe house, Root knew from experience that the medication and sheer boredom were more draining than hours of chasing a number or a full-on shootout.

 

“It’s so quiet,” Shaw said after a few minutes, smelling like the minty toothpaste Root had bought the night before. “Though I guess not for you.”

 

“Yeah,” Root lied; she couldn’t look at Shaw any longer after that, so she turned to the other side, scooting backwards in the process. 

 

When Shaw didn’t move away or say anything, it was enough for Root.

  
  


*

  
  


Shaw hit her breaking point the following afternoon, their torpid routine getting to be too much to bear. It got to Root too, this had probably been the longest she’d stayed in one place in months since… since the library actually, watching them all from the periphery of her cage.

 

The door to one of the top cupboards was open and a freshly showered Shaw stared at it, obviously restless. It was nearly empty, so not a whole lot to stare at.

 

“Did someone put your gun on the top shelf?” Root said, which only made Shaw grunt in frustration. 

 

Root was readied for a fight, for Shaw to try to walk out into the world, to ignore safety in exchange for adrenaline. She already had the words rehearsed in her mind, willing to plead if necessary.

 

But Shaw didn’t start an argument, at least not yet, so Root began putting the dirty pan and glasses from breakfast into the sink, trying to ignore the warm feeling she felt at the domesticity of the action. She had barely finished when she found herself pushed into the countertop until she had to brace herself with both hands against the formica. 

 

Shaw pressed against her back, wet hair dripping over Root’s shirt, and smelling like cheap soap.

 

“Hope you didn’t use up all of the hot water,” Root teased. 

 

“I took a cold shower,” Shaw replied, hands tugging at Root’s hips like she was trying to find where they fit.

 

There  _ was  _ a struggle after all, but it was for control, Shaw’s restlessness redirected to her actions.

 

“I’m guessing it didn’t help?” Root quipped.

 

“Keep your hands on the counter,” Shaw warned, voice warm and sure against Root’s good ear, right before her hand dipped into the front of Root’s striped cotton pants. Root worried for a second if this was okay, if Shaw was healed enough, and that second felt like an eternity to her; but Shaw’s touch made any concerns disappear, at least temporarily. Shaw could be reckless, but she  _ was _ taking the initiative so Root could hardly be blamed for letting herself follow Shaw’s lead.

 

Her head dropped forward when Shaw found what she was looking for, trigger-calloused fingers and soft pads of her fingertips rubbing circles until Root had to bite her tongue to keep from moaning. The pain from that only made matters worse as liquid heat spread through her, originating from every inch of her body being touched by Shaw. Root’s legs were unsteady, her arms struggling to keep most of her weight. 

 

Shaw’s small yet strong body could hold her up if needed, but that would mean defeat, and while Root would gladly give up a lot of things for Shaw, she had to admit that she also thoroughly enjoyed being at Shaw’s mercy.

 

“I’m serious, Root,” Shaw added again. “Move and I’ll stop.”

 

Root nodded, too dazed to do anything else. She focused on staying upright, and

managed to keep her hips from thrusting forward when Shaw would slow her movements down, give less than what Root needed, but Shaw always managed to bring her right back to the brink. 

 

It was Shaw pressing her lips between Root’s shoulder blades, warm breath through the fabric of her top, that hurled Root over the edge. When she finally collapsed onto the counter, Shaw stuck to her word and withdrew from between Root’s legs, but her hand never made it past Root’s lower back, rubbing circles against the skin where Root’s top had ridden up. It was a soft, unexpected movement, and whatever breath Root had gotten back into her lungs felt like not enough. 

 

“Not that I’m not grateful, but a ’thanks for saving my life’ would’ve sufficed,” Root said when she managed to steady her breath and hold herself mostly upright again. She turned around, Shaw’s body still very much in Root’s personal space.

 

“I didn’t ask you to save me,” Shaw replied, reaching up until she could petulantly nip at the line of Root’s jaw. There was a request there, a demand, an impatient energy bouncing through Shaw’s entire body, wordlessly communicating she wanted Root’s touch and fast.

 

All things considered, Root had never been able to deny Shaw what she wanted.

 

Her wrapped her hand into Shaw’s hair, pulled until she could press their lips together. Shaw relaxed into the touch, her thirst for control at least temporarily quenched. Root felt a special sort of thrill at being able to touch and kiss Shaw the ways she’s yearned to, craved. It was all made worse by how willing and eager Shaw was, how responsive, more than Root could have ever dreamed of.

 

Root was used to her brain working non-stop, analyzing and cataloguing and re-calculating. She was good at rewriting herself into whoever she needed to be at any given time. Root was goal oriented to the extreme: revenge for Hanna, find Her, defeat Samaritan; but there was no end goal with Shaw, no reason why she took up so much of Root’s brainpower. Sure, she could still multi-task, but if often felt like whatever room the Machine wasn’t taking up was occupied by Shaw - like a virus, always there: a self-executing file from the moment Root opened that hotel room door.

 

Surprisingly, Shaw didn’t protest when Root lifted her onto the kitchen counter, though Root suspected it had something to do with her mouth being closer to where Shaw wanted it to be, eagerly reaching for Root’s waist and shoulders and wherever else she could reach. More often than not, Shaw’s body language was more reliable with regards to her wants than whatever she said, and Root was good at reading between the lines. 

 

Root nipped at Shaw’s collarbone harder than necessary, and she smiled proudly as Shaw reacted with a hiss. The furnace wasn’t the best in the safe house, yet Shaw still wore tank tops around the clock, bruises peeking out from under the fabric, smaller ones on the exposed skin.

 

When she finally moved to pull Shaw’s top off, the larger bruises were worse than they’d been at the hospital; she wanted to erase them, format and then rewrite the partitions with new ones. She figured she could, with enough time. 

  
She wasn’t sure how long they had, but when she tugged on Shaw’s sweatpants, time slowed down, infinite, and everything else faded away.


	8. strike the match, strike the match now

Shaw’s bruises faded, but Root’s memories didn’t. Every time Root watched Shaw, the memories of the submerging van would come back. The silence in her ear had been replaced with the distant echo of the Machine communicating their bleak odds.

 

For so long Root had lived by a law written with nothing but zeros and ones, yet the moment the bomb had gone off on that bridge, her faith in the Machine had also shattered. Without her trust in the Machine, Root knew even one second of indecision on her part could kill one of them--

 

Could kill  _ Shaw _ , and she wouldn’t let that happen. 

 

Root had gotten on the first plane to London, a hasty note left on the kitchen counter of the safe house along with a fresh, carefully  created identity for Sameen, in case the encounter with the Brotherhood had blown her cover.  

 

The cochlear implant was checked out when she landed in England; it hadn’t been permanently damaged. A new sound processor was easy enough to acquire, but it was still a permanent reminder of the evening that haunted her.

 

(She still couldn’t hear Her even with the replacement, and she’d forgotten how loud her own thoughts could be, her mind’s constant chatter taking up all the room in her head. Words and words and words, nothing like what the Machine sounded like; She spoke in this short-handed code the two of them had developed over time.)

 

Root had a plan.

 

At this stage, Samaritan’s reach was worldwide. And anyone with any knowledge of warfare knew that focusing all of their efforts on just one war front was a poor strategy. She started with a name; a week later she had a list of people and locations. After three weeks and six countries, she had an entire network mapped out in her brain. 

 

Once, a lifetime before, she’d told Shaw it would take years to take down all of Samaritan’s facilities, but Root wasn’t looking for servers or warehouses.

 

Her fingers hadn’t touched a keyboard since she’d left. Some days she would still find herself tapping on fiberglass or steering wheel, striking imaginary keys to try to get some of the noise out of her head. But most days, she planned, plotted, executed.

 

She didn’t need a computer to hack Samaritan.

 

At times the disconnect felt stifling; at others, it felt liberating. Either way, she was extremely resourceful and highly motivated. She would get it done.

 

Being a ghost came easily to her. She moved from city to city effortlessly, following decade-old trails. For weeks, she went completely unnoticed - until a familiar figure limped his way up the aisle of the moving train car.

 

There was no surprise, not really. She had found no less than four trackers in her belongings in the first couple of weeks; rather impressive considering how light she traveled… or how light she lived, actually. 

 

“I don’t believe this seat is taken, Ms. Groves?” Finch asked before taking the seat in front of her.

 

“You are a long way from home, Harry,” she offered.

 

“I could say the same regarding you,” Harold replied with a cryptic smile. He was still slightly reserved, never showing his entire hand, but there was honesty and affection in his features.

 

_ I don’t have a home _ , she thought but didn’t say it out loud. “Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” She teased instead.

 

Harold paused and tilted his head, an inquisitive look on his face, like he couldn’t comprehend why she’d asked. “Yes, Ms. Groves. It is.”

 

Something caught in her throat, this unexpected wave of emotion. “I’m tracking a lead,” she explained, ignoring how her eyes burned all of a sudden.

 

“You don’t have to fight alone,” Harold added with a glance at her. “The Machine is worried about you,” he continued. “She is not the only one.”

 

“I’m sure Tall and Brooding is managing just fine,” she pointed out, ignoring the obvious elephant in the train car. 

 

(It was ridiculous to her; the idea Sameen would worry about or miss her. She wasn’t— they weren’t— their world was  _ different _ , Root had told herself when she’d hailed the cab in front of the safe house under the cover of night.)

 

Harold cleared his throat. “I know how close we came to losing—”

 

“I can’t go back… not yet,” she interrupted him before he could say it, before he could remind her of what still tethered her to the real world, what she’d left behind. 

 

(Maybe she wasn’t that different from everyone else, and this bitter laughter escaped her lips.)

 

“I still hoped I could reason with you,” Harold pointed out as he stood up, something akin to disappointment in his voice that cut deep inside her.

 

“Reason?” She scoffed. “I  _ thought _ reason was my salvation. I was wrong,” she offered as she stared at a spot on the wall.

 

“Reason is only one side of the coin, Ms. Groves. The Machine understands reason; I made sure of that. But it is still learning about purpose and emotion. I always suspected that was part of the reason why it allowed you to find it.”

 

“I would be a liability,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. Root was silent until the train began to slow down. “How is Sameen?” She asked nervously, sensing the end of their journey.

 

“Ms. Shaw is back to her old self,” Harold replied as he stood up. “I am sorry I was not able to sway you, but I appreciate the opportunity to visit Budapest once again. I forgot how beautiful it is this time of the year.”

 

“We’re not too far from Italy, you know?” Root offered. It wasn’t to hurt or get a rise out of Harold, unlike in the past. This was her looking out for a friend, worrying about someone else’s happiness. She’d forgotten she was capable of that, or maybe she’d never realized it as possible before.

 

“I couldn’t…” Harold said, and Root was sure he was calculating the risks in his own mind. “No good would come of that.”

 

She wondered if his mind was as loud as hers; if maybe creating Her had been a way to quiet those thoughts, focus and sharpen them. “Then you understand why I can’t go back yet.”

 

“What message should I give her?” Harold asked as he gathered his coat and hat.

 

Root wasn’t sure if he meant Sameen or the Machine, but it didn’t matter. “Tell her…”

 

Harold’s eyes fixated on her face as he waited for her to finish her sentence, and she glanced away again, out the train window at the trees that passed by so quickly they were a blur of green against a blue background. Of course, the trees weren’t passing them by, it was the opposite, but it showed how easy it was for humans to forget they weren’t the center of the universe.

 

“Nothing,” she said as the train approached the station.

  
  


*

  
  


Daniel met her in India, the contrasting skyline of Hyderabad stretching in front of them; buildings old and new co-existing in a budding metropolis.

 

“She chose you for a reason, you know?” He asked when she explained the… recent developments between her and the Machine. 

 

They still didn’t speak, not directly, but the Machine left her breadcrumbs, code hidden in plain sight. A specific hotel room number, the wrong meal ticket spat out from a restaurant’s erratic POS system, a typo in a newspaper. 

 

Her thoughts wandered back to the question she kept asking herself, Daniel’s words overwriting hers in her own mind.

 

They sat at a cafe that jutted into an alley, no cameras. It was easy for them to blend in with all of the other foreigners, even easier to stay unseen amongst the large crowds, moving back and forth in clusters throughout the workday.

 

“We can’t exactly blend our way inside a Samaritan facility,” Daniel pointed out.

 

“Good thing we’re not going to,” she replied as she watched her mark across the street.. 

 

Daniel frowned at her. “I don’t get it.”

 

She smiled, though it never reached her eyes. “We’re hacking people, not computers.”

 

“How do you hack people?” Daniel asked.

 

“You locate information on them, learn what makes them tick. Who they love, what they stand for. Everyone has a weakness. I’m good at finding and using that. Find the key players in the big picture, and you could make an impact.”

 

“So we’re… blackmailing them?”

 

“I used to, you know,” she explained. “I still do, if necessary, to save the people I care about. But blackmail people for fun, for money, or simply because I  _ could _ . I made a lot of decisions back then that I have to live with. I was lost for a really long time. I’m lost again, but it’s different.”

 

Daniel looked at her in disbelief, like he didn’t know his work for the government - the laptop that had landed him in everyone’s crosshairs years before - had indirectly led Root to Her. He didn’t know that back when he was a number Harold was working, she wouldn’t have hesitated to join the hunting party with the right incentive. 

 

“What’s different?”

 

“Purpose,” she offered. “I was given a choice when I began working with the Machine, and even with everything that’s happened, I know I made the right one. I just want these people to have the same chance.”

 

The path she’d been offered had allowed her to see the good still left in her, what she thought she’d permanently lost the night Hanna got into that car outside the library. There hadn’t been much good left by the time the Machine had come along, but there’d been enough to help Root see she was still capable of it.

 

She’d spent so long expecting the worst out of people, and now here she was doing the opposite. 

 

“I show them how Samaritan would discard them at the first opportunity, how it creates pain and chaos and disguises it as good will and order. I give them the information, and… then I leave. It’s up to them to figure out what to do with it, to make their own choices.”

 

“You’re going to get caught,” Daniel said, eyes full of concern.

 

“I am good at disappearing,” she reassured him. “And most of them aren’t Samaritan operatives; most are local government leaders, third party suppliers, people in the periphery that Samaritan doesn’t value, doesn’t pay as much attention to. Just pawns.”

 

Daniel was still unsure, but he followed her instructions to the letter.

 

A day later, he was gone and she was alone again, six hundred miles from Hyderabad.

  
  


*

 

The day of the blackout, Root had lost Her, but Shaw had been there to ease the pain, to fill the void left behind. That had been an unpredictable incident, a kink in the system, an unwilling separation. When She’d spoken again that night, Root had been filled with relief, throwning herself into fixing the post-blackout chaos at Her behest.

 

The other void, left behind the moment she tuned out the Machine right before she jumped into the icy water, had been unbearable. It wasn’t just the Machine she questioned at the moment, it was her own sense of self. 

 

So she ran, like she ran from Bishop when she’d felt like part of her had been torn out. Much like before, she had half a plan and no one but herself to rely on. 

 

Unlike Bishop, this time she had something left to lose.

 

_ Giacomo Razzotti. Mary Straczyinski. Niko Kosouska. HiroIgata. Talya Aydogan.  _

 

Those were just a few of the people Root had targeted in her mission.

 

(Humans were bad code - she had never quite stopped believing in that. She just started believing most were fixable, salvageable. Some were easier to debug than others.

 

A few were rather easy to fix… others, like herself, took time.)

 

Samaritan was superior technologically and growing exponentially, but its weakness was that it valued results over human beings. If Root couldn’t beat it codewise, she hoped these people would infect Samaritan like a virus, corrupt its system from within. 

 

It wouldn’t kill Samaritan, she knew better. She knew the biggest blow would have to come from Her. But Root hoped what she was doing would weaken it so when time came, it might all come crashing down.

 

She didn’t want anything to rise from the ashes of Samaritan.


	9. i ache for love, ache for us

  
  


Samaritan crumbled from the inside; gone not with a bang but with series of quiet implosions. 

 

It took luck and hard work; Root still didn’t know all of the details, but she knew Greer was dead, Samaritan’s operation had taken heavy hits in New York and D.C., and the seeds of doubt she’d planted across the globe flourished in a worldwide struggle for power until there was nothing left.

 

From the moment she heard the whispers with the news, she knew what would come next.

 

It finally happened in Fethiya, the hot Turkish summer meeting the slightly cooler sea breeze, sticking to Root’s skin. Shaw found her in a crowd, with such precision that Root wondered if she was in God mode, but as Shaw leaned into the railing separating them from the sand below, she found no evidence of it. Instead, she found Shaw in a modest sleeveless earth-colored dress that covered her shoulder to feet. Root didn't expect that - or the way Shaw still moved naturally in the unusual outfit.

 

“It’s a good thing I don’t take these things personally, you know?” Shaw said as a manner of greeting. “Otherwise I’d probably be offended that you keep taking off on me.”

 

Root’s lips quirked in response, the heat of the familiar body in proximity to her was stronger than the stifling air around them. “It’s not you, it’s me,” she quipped, but it carried an air of honesty.

 

“You got that right,” Shaw replied, all gruff confidence but there was the shadow of a smile in the profile of her face before it was gone. “Greer is dead.”

 

“I heard. Who was the lucky one?” Root asked.

 

Shaw shook her head. “No one. Honest to god heart attack, old fashioned.”

 

“How…” Root wrinkled her nose in amusement. “…anticlimactic.”

 

Shaw scoffed. “I heard through the nerdvine what you’ve been up to… but there’s still a bit of mess to be cleaned up. We could use you.”

 

Root was silent, hands twisting uncomfortably in front of her. She thought of the weeks, months she had been gone, wondered if she was ready to return. “So the mission needs me?”

 

“Hmm, I said  _ use _ but sure, whatever you have to tell yourself,” Shaw jabbed. “Reese offered to, and I quote, come ‘knock some sense’ into you, but I pulled the short straw. I hope the  _ Karniyarik _ they serve at the hotel makes up for the ten hours in coach ”

 

“Right,” replied, an innuendo at the tip of her tongue - about making it up to Shaw - that she ended up swallowing.

 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Shaw asked as the waves crashed below.

 

“I’m not sure yet,” Root admitted.

 

They stood, side by side, in silence until long after the sun had set, the hot air progressively losing its battle against the cool evening air. Hot day fading into calm night, much like the two of them.

 

Heat had never been an issue for them, friction and fire went hand in hand, the two of them thrived on it. Their words left scorch marks, their actions were like wildfire. But somewhere along the way the heat had begun to give way to moments like these, comfortable silence anchoring them.

 

For the first time in months, Root’s brain wasn’t running wild. She’d seen enough skylines and mountains and rivers in the months traveling around the globe, but mostly she’d looked for cameras and computers and specific faces in the crowds. She’d never truly appreciated any of the places she’d visited, not the way she did tonight, the smell of the ocean and the stars starting to shine above them.

 

“Well, my flight leaves in the morning. There’s another ticket if you’re interested,” Shaw broke the silence. “Sleep on it.”

 

Root turned towards Shaw, leaning into the scent of Shaw and the ocean mixed together until she couldn’t tell them apart anymore. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  
  


*

  
  


There was something unexpectedly soft in Shaw’s body; not the curves or the muscles or the scars, everything was pretty much as it had been with just a couple of new additions, but some of the tension was gone. From the moment they had opened the door, they’d been as frenzied as Root had hoped - maybe even needed - items and furniture strewn around the hotel room.

 

And afterwards, Shaw didn’t pull away when Root’s head had come to rest on her stomach, covers bunched up under their feet and Root’s fingers tracing faded scars.

 

“I left in part because I wanted to know,” she spoke against Shaw’s skin. “I wanted to know why She chose me.”

 

“Did you?” Shaw asked as her hand brushed against Root’s hair, working through the knots that had resulted from humidity and Shaw’s earlier ministrations.

 

Root shook her head.

 

“For so long I convinced myself that I was special because She chose me,” Root said, a scoff at the absurdity of it all escaping her lips. 

 

“Why do you doubt that?” Shaw’s question was so low Root almost didn’t hear, her implant barely registering it.

 

“Because all it took was a bridge and a bomb for me to question it.”

 

“Root,” Shaw tugged on the knots she had been trying to untangle, pulling until Root shifted closer. Root could feel her heartbeat echoing against Shaw’s ribs as she looked up at her, meeting the confusion and concern in Shaw’s face. 

 

“Then I thought maybe I wasn’t special at all. Maybe I was just the only one crazy enough, and skilled enough, and— _broken_ enough, to do what She wanted me to do.”

 

“ _ Root _ ,” Shaw ordered. “Stop.”

 

Despite herself, Root laughed as tears rolled down her face. “We kinda suck at this,” Root pointed out.  Shaw wasn’t exactly an expert in diffusing an emotional breakdown, and Root wasn’t exactly used to having someone there  _ trying _ to diffuse it.  

 

Shaw nodded, but reached under the weight of Root’s hair until she could trace Root’s ear, fingers resting against the scars and the implant. “Remember that night, in my apartment? You said you didn’t want to go back to being that person you were when we met.”

 

“Yeah,” Root replied, trying not to get caught up in memories.

 

“I didn’t like you very much back then, in that hotel room. Then again, I didn’t like you afterwards either,” Shaw added.

 

“Do you say that to all the girls that try to burn you with an iron?” Root’s tone was light, but her throat was still tight around the words.

 

“Just the ones that don’t know how to take a hint,” Shaw replied, before turning serious again. “But with or without the Machine, you would never go back to that. If anything, this… walkabout of yours kind of proves that.” 

 

Root frowned, still doubting herself.

 

“Do you think She has a soul?” Root mused, the question she’d revisited time and time again. She brushed her knuckles against the softness of the underside of Shaw’s breast, one of the few parts unmarred by scars or ink; there was no intent behind the touch, just something to ground her, something to keep her from hiding in her own mind.

 

Shaw shrugged and grumbled. “I… guess it depends on your definition of a soul? Why don’t we call Finch? He’s better at this stuff than me.”

 

“Harry can’t be expected to be objective when it comes to this,” Root pointed out. “But I keep wondering if She has a conscience or if it’s just consciousness. Would She even have felt guilt if you…?” Root couldn’t finish the sentence, memories of the cold water flashing before her eyes. “She was willing to—”

 

“It was a shitty situation, alright?” Shaw sighed with frustration. “And I’m not exactly the best person to ask about a conscience, sociopathy and all. But if I were in Her spot, I would’ve made the same call.”

 

“You’re not an omniscient ASI,” Root pointed out.

 

Shaw shrugged underneath Root. “If you think She chose wrong, then you should  _ talk _ to her, teach her, I don’t know. But I do know running away from that isn’t going to fix things.” 

 

Air slowly filled Root’s lungs as she considered the words, exhaling when she couldn’t think anymore.

 

Shaw continued. “You know, I don’t get a lot of this entire thing between you two, but I do know that the Machine didn’t just choose you because you were an easy target.” 

 

Root sighed into Sameen’s shoulder. Her lip was still swollen from earlier, so when she dug her own teeth into the sensitive flesh, she cringed at the renewed sharp pain. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened, if you’d been the one who picked up that second phone instead of John, in the library, the day I first heard Her.”

 

“How would that have changed anything?” Shaw asked.

 

“You’re so resilient, Sameen.” Root remarked with awe. “So much stronger than me. Maybe that’s the kind of person She needed? Not someone so— blinded by the wonder of it all and—”  

 

“Shut up.” Shaw turned on her side in frustration until she could face Root. “Do you know why I know she didn’t just choose you randomly? Because she was  _ right. _ You are one of a kind and she saw that; all she did was give you a chance to prove it.” 

 

Shaw seemed exasperated by Root’s self-pity and self-doubt, her hand curving around Root’s neck like she believed if she just held still enough, maybe Root could stop talking.

 

“I spent six hours of my flight figuring out ways I’d get you to come home, including buying a suitcase large enough to stuff you in it. I wouldn’t do this… this  _ shit _ like flying halfway around the world, ugh…” Shaw took two large breaths, as if trying to choose the right words. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to miss someone when you’ve never missed anyone at all, in your entire life?”

 

Root was too stunned to do anything but nod, her nose bouncing off Shaw’s with every movement, her tears staining Shaw’s cheeks.

 

“I don’t know how normal people deal with this. It’s worse than getting shot. Listen, if you can’t go back yet, I’ll respect your decision. It’d be a stupid decision, but I’d respect it. And it wouldn’t change this,” Shaw said as she brushed her thumb across Root’s jaw and leaned in to press their lips together. 

 

Realization dawned on Root that Sameen was actually going to lengths to reassure her that this visit wasn’t an ultimatum - a slice of encouragement, sure, but nothing to force Root’s hand in anyway.

 

It was her choice.

 

Shaw pulled back just slightly after a few seconds. “But seriously, it’d be a stupid ass decision.”

 

Root laughed despite the choked feeling in her throat, messily returning the kiss. 

 

Shaw’s admission -  _ declaration _ \- weighed heavily on Root’s mind. She knew Shaw’s code hadn’t been re-written, but it was as if part of it had been laid bare before her, strings that had never been seen by anyone else before.

 

Root had been called a lot of things in life, but stupid had never been one of them.

  
  


*

  
  


She woke up before the sunrise, Sameen’s arm thrown around her waist in a way that was anything but casual or incidental, and it took Root a second to see the faint light flashing. Between Shaw’s weapons, her cell phone screen was lighting up rhythmically as it lay face down.

 

Root shut her eyes tightly again, tried to ignore the light and what it meant, at least for another minute or two. 

 

“Shut that off,” Shaw grumbled, and Root was confused until she remembered Shaw could hear some things she couldn’t, even with the implant: like the vibration of the phone against that surface material.

 

It wasn’t until Shaw grunted in annoyance, still mostly asleep and turned away from Root that getting up felt like an inevitability. 

 

The splash of cold water on Root's face helped settle some of her nerves, in the lavish bathroom. Her reflection was a distraction; lately, every time she looked in a mirror was to check if a wig was on properly, or if a cut would need stitches. There were subtle fresh marks on her neck, and… less than subtle marks below those. The crescent moon shaped indentations around her collarbone down to her arm formed a path, the perfect round bite mark around the scar on her left shoulder squarely in the middle.

 

She can’t remember the last time she looked into her own eyes and wasn’t hesitant to see what she’d find. This time she didn’t glance away, not even when she pulled the phone off the vanity and pressed it against her ear. 

 

“I guess we should talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter is more of an epilogue than anything, should be up in a few days. Thank you all for reading (:


	10. we're a perfect match, perfect somehow

* * *

 

Shaw watched as Root barely managed to stick her arm into the elevator door to keep it from closing, and as soon as the doors re-opened, she wished Root had just let it go. They could’ve waited for the next car.

 

“Hello there!” The older woman already in the elevator was likely in her late 60s or early 70s, pristine white hair coiffed perfectly, the way Shaw had learned to expect from an apartment building that wasn’t a total dump. “That looks heavy, Jerry could’ve helped you with that. He’s been our doorman for… oh, eighteen years now?”

 

Shaw gripped the large brown paper bag closer to her body, the long baguette sticking up about eight inches over the top of her head, standing in the middle of the elevator between the woman and Root. “It’s fine,” she grunted out, not in the mood for small talk - not that she was ever in the mood for small talk.

 

Root, however, did not share those reservations. Despite being able to get almost any information delivered to her with one hundred percent reliability, she still liked to ask  _ people  _ questions. “Eighteen years? Wow, that’s a long time. How long have you lived here?”

 

“Since the ‘80s,” the older woman replied. “How about you two?”

 

“Oh, we just moved in,” Root added cheerfully. “Big step, you know, buying a place together.”

 

Shaw wanted to strangle her, but the grocery bag required both of her hands... for the time being at least.

 

“At least you get to do it with your best friend.” The woman laughed. 

 

Root laughed - or, more appropriately, snorted - before throwing her arm over Shaw, squeezing the shoulder furthest away from her. “The  _ bestest _ .”

 

Shaw was going to take the stairs next time. She didn’t care if they were on the 14th floor.

 

“Ouch, your back,” the woman commented as she glanced at Shaw’s back, red lines deep enough to have drawn blood when they were made. “Are you okay?”

 

Shaw froze on the spot, staring intently at the large ‘7’ on the graphic display showing the floor they were on. There was no way they were only halfway up.

 

Root could’ve easily talked their way out of this one, but she obviously enjoyed watching Shaw sweat this one out, probably as much as she’d enjoyed making those marks, digging her fingernails into the skin of Shaw’s back the night before. And Shaw had totally forgotten about the exposed shoulder blades when she’d slipped into the racerback tank that morning. 

 

This also meant  _ Finch _ had seen the marks. And Reese. She was going to fucking kill Root.

 

“It’s uh… fine…” Shaw struggled. “Cats, you know?” 

 

Root learned into Sameen’s ear. “Meow,” she whispered.

 

Shaw gripped the grocery bag more tightly. She was  _ definitely _ killing her. 

 

“That’s dangerous stuff,” the older woman added. “My cousin lost her thumb because a cat scratch got infected. Peroxide helps, just pour it and let it fizz for a—”

 

“I know how peroxide works,” Shaw gritted out. The day before she’d sat through an old man’s recipe for short ribs for an entire eight floors. 

 

“Sam here used to be a doctor,” Root said in that saccharine tone she used to endear people who didn’t know she probably killed or maimed their fifth cousin or old acquaintance at some point in her life.

 

The woman’s face lit up. “A doctor? That is great news. My next door neighbor was looking for a doctor, I’ll send him your way.”

 

“ _ Former _ doctor,” Shaw restated.

 

“We’d love to meet him!” Root added gleefully over Shaw’s grumpiness.

 

The elevator dinged just as Shaw was about to elbow Root in the ribs, which she might still do in the relative safety of their apartment.

 

“That’s us,” Root announced, placing her hand on Shaw’s lower back as if Shaw needed any extra incentive to get out of the elevator.

 

Shaw fumed as she waited for Root to unlock the door, but Root’s mood seemed to  _ improve _ at Shaw’s discomfort.

 

“Ms. Shaw, Ms. Groves?” Finch’s voice came through as they entered the apartment, over the intercom by the front door that he’d managed to gain access to the week before.

 

“Do we have another number?” Root asked as she took off her shoes at the entrance.

 

“Yeah, yours,” Shaw replied as she put down the grocery bag on the coffee table.

 

“No, actually,” Finch answered before adding. “Why would we get Ms. Groves’ number?”

 

“Because I’m about to kill her,” Shaw added before she began throwing the baguette and other contents from the grocery store onto the floor, reaching for the guns and three flash bang grenades at the bottom.

 

“I hope Reese double bagged that,” Root added, obviously unfazed by Shaw’s comment.

 

Finch also seemed to ignore the small outburst, and continued. “Actually, I just wanted to let you know that your doorman, Mr. Silva, has just received a wire transfer for $25,000 from an offshore account.”

 

“Tsk, tsk,” Root shook her head. “I expected more out of you, Jerry.”

 

“You think it’s a hit or a bribe?” Shaw asked as she loaded the cartridges into the guns, relaxed by the clicking sounds.

 

“Hard to tell at this point, but nothing in his history appears to indicate he has any particular training or skills to carry out a hit.” Bear’s whine came through the intercom along with Finch’s voice. 

 

“Sounds like Bear needs a visit to the little boys’ fire hydrant,” Shaw pointed out as she removed the Ka-bar D2 from her lower back, noticing Root doing the same with her guns by the front door.

 

Finch hummed in agreement. “I will send over the information I’ve gathered.”

 

The communication ended with an audible click. As Shaw reached for the nano on her ankle, she felt Root’s fingers on her shoulder blades, and she hissed as Root traced the still healing wounds. 

 

Root and her socked feet had managed to sneak up on Shaw - not an easy feat. Shaw felt her frustration at the skit in the elevator flare up again.

 

“I don’t think you understand the concept of laying low,” Shaw added as the ankle holster felt to the coffee table and straightening up. “Also if I end up with six old dudes asking me about their ED, I’m going to shoot you. Twice.”

 

Root shrugged at the threat, fingers running over the muscles tight around the top of Shaw’s shoulder. “Relax,” she suggested. “Mrs. Livingsworth’s next door neighbor is our number.”

 

Shaw’s eyes rolled of their own volition. “A heads up from you or Her would’ve been nice.”

 

“But I do love watching you squirm,” Root replied. She bent down to run her lips at the spot on Shaw’s shoulder she’d been touching moments before.

 

Heat pooled in Shaw’s abs and she almost hated herself for it. Root had been extra insufferable since they’d ‘moved in’ two weeks before. “If we ever get a real place, it better be a secluded condo because I’m not dealing with neighbors.” The words left Shaw’s mouth before she had a chance to process them, the unexpected plural pronoun made her glad Root couldn’t see the sudden panic in her eyes. The realization that she was mostly panicked at how natural it felt didn’t make it any easier to handle.

 

It’s not as if there was any doubt where they stood with each other, but Shaw still had moments of feeling overwhelmed by it. It wasn’t like either of them had a lot of (or any) practice with this relationship stuff; they’d shared a place since getting back to New York City, but it was more of an unspoken agreement than an official ‘let’s move in together’. 

 

They fell into this much like they’d done everything else, tumbling their way into it, realizing where they were, what they were, three or four steps later. For people who were good at anticipating everyone’s every move, they were pretty much each other’s blind spot.

 

As Root’s hands slipped under the front of her tank, Shaw breathed out, “Cameras.” She was partly glad Root seemed content in letting the comment about buying a place together slip, at least for now.

 

“She shut them off. And the intercom,” Root assured her, helping Shaw out of her top before she started working on the button of Shaw’s black denim jeans. 

 

Root and the Machine were back to being… best buds or whatever. Shaw remembered waking up to a note on the kitchen counter; she’d spent the first weeks telling herself she didn’t miss Root, and the weeks before Samaritan’s demise worrying about her. Despite everything that had happened between Root and the Machine, Shaw at least knew if Root had been in any real danger, then the Machine would have let them know.  

 

It had taken at least three months after they returned from Turkey for Root to feel comfortable enough to re-modify her implant, and another month for her to stop tensing every time She spoke. But, here they were, the Machine feeding her information about old ladies, and turning off cameras so they could—

 

Shaw’s thoughts came to a screeching halt as Root’s hand slipped between her legs. 

  
Shaw figured there could be worse things than having the Machine looking out for the two of them.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank @chromestorm again for asking about this fic and reminding me it was still unfinished and for being all around awesome. Thank you for keeping me on track :)
> 
> Also K and R again, thank you for the encouragement and corrections :P
> 
> Ending this is bittersweet, but I am incredibly grateful for every single person that's taken the time to read this.


End file.
